I'd Rather Be In Philadelphia
by Objessions
Summary: Christmas Story full of Die Hard references and whump. I'm sick and miserable and I wanted company. Also, Die Hard isn't just 'a' Christmas movie, it's THE Christmas movie. I started this at like 4:30 today, so if the first chapter is naught but typos, blame the Nyquil and my speedy needs. Standard Disclaimers Apply.
1. Chapter 1

I'd Rather Be in Philadelphia

Mac leaned against the rough graffiti covered wall, panting. He could hear Jack splashing back toward him through the flooded corridor they'd passed a few minutes ago. He looked down at the floor beneath him, nodding like he was agreeing with someone's wise suggestion. He sunk down onto it, glad it was reasonably dry.

Jack's soggy steps were approaching, and Mac covered a cough by clearing his throat and calling out to his partner, "Find an exit, pal?"

"Nah, man, but there's a big room at the end, all dry and warmer than …" Jack came around the corner and immediately dropped down next to his partner. "Hey, kid, hey, you okay?"

Mac forced his eyes back open. "Yeah, man, I'm good." Jack's skeptical face slipped firmly into place making Mac smirk. "Maybe could do with a hand up though."

Instead of pursuing further questions relative to his partner's less than awesome condition, Jack stood with a groan and extended his hand to help Mac up. Mac grimaced but made it to his feet in one reasonably smooth motion.

"So … big, warmer room?"

Jack smirked. "Well, warmer is a relative term, but I couldn't see my breath in there and it looks more structurally sound than some of these hallways. Plus, it's the furthest place from where good ole Hans blew the entrance and trapped us in here."

Mac smiled at that. "Jack, his name is Manfred Vogt."

Jack slung an arm around his partner's shoulders and as a testament to just how lousy the kid felt, he didn't protest the help. "Sure, that's a fine name, bud. But any crazy German thief who ruins my goddamned Christmas is gonna be Hans Gruber. Especially if he shoots at me and tries to blow me up. It don't matter if it's in the middle of the East German countryside instead of LA."

"At least you still have your shoes, man. So, you're one up on McClane so far."

Mac hesitated for a moment before they started slogging though the black water flooding the yet another hallway of the warren of underground tunnels they'd fled into after their exfil helicopter crashed, not ten minutes away from their rendezvous, freeing their prisoner within easy range of his cronies.

Then he made himself start walking, letting Jack help him stay on his feet. He just didn't have the energy to argue. He'd been coming down with something when they'd reported for the briefing about bringing in an international contract thief who terrorist organizations hired to steal valuable enough targets to finance their work.

"Jesus, that's cold," he grumbled. There were few sensations he disliked more than wet feet, especially in wet socks.

Of course right now, he was slightly more worried about wet lungs. First he'd been getting sick although he'd done his level best to ignore it. Then the crash had knocked him around a fair amount, probably busting up his ribs, and the run through the forest that terminated in this strange bunker that seemed comprised mostly of moldy rusty tunnels hadn't done his respiratory system (or any of the rest of him) any favors.

"It's pretty cold," Jack agreed, glancing with some worry at his overly docile partner. "Not gonna lie, feels not too awful on my ankle though."

"How bad is it?" Mac asked, remembering for the first time, that Jack had gotten dinged up a little, too.

"Better than the bullet graze," Jack said mildly. They paused when another explosion from somewhere not too far off rocked the tunnel they were sloshing through. Some dust drifted down, but that was all.

After pausing to see if another blast would happen, they started off again. "I'll patch that up for you as soon as we can find ourselves some light," Mac offered.

"That's something I think maybe I've got covered."

They exited the dark narrow tunnel, where the flashlight on Jack's phone revealed a large dry room that had to be at least fifteen degrees warmer than where they had been. Mac almost sighed with relief. He'd been shivering, and it felt like it eased almost immediately when they stepped into this large room. It felt almost like there had to be a fire going somewhere nearby it was so much warmer.

Jack eased Mac down onto an overturned set of lockers and made sure the light from his phone let his partner see the 'move and I'll beat you like a rented mule' look he was giving him. "No worries, Dalton, I'll stay right here. I don't have a light anyway."

Mac's phone had gotten crushed in the crash and he clearly resented having to rely on Jack for light at the moment. Jack gave him a knowing look, then asked, "What're the odds you have a dry lighter in your bag of tricks at the moment?"

"Easily calculable," Mac answered with a wry smirk. "But I'll spare you the math." He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew a hot pink Bic.

"Nice fashion choice for taking up one seriously filthy habit. You haven't have you?"

Mac grinned. "No, but Katarina smokes. She didn't have pockets, so when we went outside, she just asked me to hold it. Forgot to give it back."

"Good to see her?" Jack asked, as he went around and began lighting the wicks on the oil lanterns he'd noticed when he came to scope this place out.

Mac nodded, and Jack didn't fail to notice how pale his partner was in the warm yellow light from the lanterns. "It was. But …"

"But what?" Jack asked, wanting to keep his very sleepy looking partner talking and awake.

"Well, I maybe should have kept my promise to stay in touch if I was interested, because she's in a pretty serious thing with one of the guys who was on her detail at the safe house leading up to Wexler's trial." He looked almost sheepish. "But it was good to see her anyway. Nice to know that what we did maybe gave her a chance at … you know … life."

Jack sat down next to him, only too aware of how warm his partner felt, just through proximity. "We do good things, bud. Maybe one of these days, we'll get some good things back."

Mac shrugged, this time having enough warning of the rattling cough he was developing to bark it into the crook of his arm. "Yeah." The he bent forward and started unlacing his boots.

"Watcha doin', bud?" Jack asked.

"Taking off these wet shoes and socks. You probably want to do the same, man. Let them dry out some while we take a breather and I patch up that graze you got."

Jack grimaced but pulled off his boots anyway. Kid had a point.

"Ah, man," Jack groused.

"What?" Mac asked, his fatigue more apparent than he'd meant to let it be.

"Hans is after us. Stuff is starting to feel pretty dire. And now I'm barefoot."

Mac snickered and then sneezed.

"Bless you," Jack said automatically.

"I'm just going to be eternally grateful that we aren't at the top of a tall building and there is no chance I'll have to use a firehose to swing off fifty stories or so and break a window." He looked at Jack's very serious profile. "But I'm sorry we're stuck underground, man. I know how you feel about that. I'd take the movie high rise trope any day."

Not feeling like he could say anything reassuring about their current location or the fact that the bad guys had them trapped like rats in a maze, under ground in the middle of a heavily forested part of east Germany, in a set of WWII tunnels that had clearly not been entered in years, Jack just shrugged. "You think Riles can get a lock on our location down here?"

Mac sighed heavily, and it spurred another coughing fit. Jack's hand on his shoulder let him know his partner was a lot more worried about him than he was letting himself say. And honestly, he appreciated Jack keeping a lid on the helicopter parent bit, even if it meant the evening was going to be filled with Die Hard quotes and bad puns. "I dunno, man. I think we shouldn't count on outside help. I think we're going to need to figure this out on our own. Worry about help later."

"Usually," Jack mumbled. He noticed Mac just staring off into the shadows, his determination to take a look at Jack's grazed bicep lost for the moment in something else. Jack decided to just let the kid think for a minute.

As the wrung out his socks and hung them up on a nearby pipe, Jack glanced at Mac again. The kid was staring at a shadowed structure across the room. "What is it, bud?"

"That looks like a boiler," Mac said, more to himself than in answer to Jack's question. "But …" he got up and went to look at it more closely.

"It is!" He spun excitedly toward Jack. "It's a boiler, but it's also a steam generator. We might have power down here and if we have power … There's all sorts of possibilities!"

Jack grinned at the kid's sudden enthusiasm, glad he'd forgotten a little bit of his misery, even it was only for a moment. "What do you need from me, kid?"

"Um, we need to fill the reservoir with water … And we need stuff to burn …"

He started coughing again and it kept up until his face was beet red and he wasn't able to stand up. Jack got him to sit back down on the overturned lockers. "Easy, bud. Just take it easy." Unable to help himself he laid his bare wrist against Mac's shiny forehead. "Jesus, kid, you're burning up."

Mac nodded. "Yeah, I've felt better." He paused. "And when we get out of this, I promise I'll spend the weekend in bed eating Bozer's patented chicken soup and letting you be the world's biggest helicopter parent pain in the ass. But we gotta get out of this first. We have exactly no time for me to give in to the flu."

"Flu, huh? So maybe you'll finally concede my point that the flu shot is just another way for Medical to torment us for no reason."

Mac rolled his eyes. "Don't make me explain herd immunity to you again, Jack. It'll just give you a headache to match to one I've already got."

Jack chuckled softly. If Mac was still well enough to be a little condescending about science, he was probably alright. "Okay. I'll just leave it. You sound like you're ready with the math. And after you explaining the Santa math to me again on the way over here, I don't think I can take any more."

Mac gave a genuine laugh at that and this time it didn't turn into a cough. "Good."

"So what do you need me to do, bud?" Jack asked, wanting to execute the plan as quickly as possible. Both of them would be a hell of a lot better off on the Phoenix jet, with a medic, and maybe with some of Bozer's best eggnog if no other pain meds were forthcoming.

Mac pushed himself back to his feet. "I'll work on making a container to haul water and start filling the steam reservoir. If you could look around and maybe find some combustibles to get a fire going … If nothing else, we'll have heat and some light from it. And maybe a lot more. If I don't miss my guess we're in an undiscovered Nazi bunker from the war. There might be all manner of stuff we can use against our Hans Gruber just lying around down here."

Jack got up and patted Mac on his shoulder. "Alright man, but Just once, I'd like a regular, normal Christmas. Eggnog, a fuckin' Christmas tree, a little turkey. But, no! I gotta crawl around in this motherfuckin' tin can!"

Mac laughed lightly at that, as he started opening up cabinets. "Die Hard quotes I can handle given our situation Jack. But Die Hard 2 is off limits."

Jack grinned at him as he headed back out into the flooded hallway, in search of things to burn. "Alright, kid, you win, but all things being equal, I'd rather be in Philadelphia."

Mac managed to return his grin, and Jack thought it was a good one, not too forced.

"That's more like it."


	2. Chapter 2

Lugging back another armload of miscellaneous debris that seemed dry enough to burn, Jack's injured ankle gave out and sent him sprawling in the dark, stagnant water. Well, shit.

At least, he thought gratefully, he'd closed his mouth on his way down and managed to not get a mouthful of the foul-smelling stuff. He forced himself up on his hands and knees with a groan. Then he used the wall to leverage himself back up to his feet, putting all of his weight on his good side.

He hadn't fallen completely in the water himself, but nothing he'd been carrying was salvageable and right this second, he thought maybe his ankle hurt just a little too much to go trundling off into the dark again. Shit, he thought again. His phone. He drew it out of his back pocket, relieved to see it hadn't gotten a soaking when he fell. Still, he didn't turn it on, choosing instead to use the faint light from the lanterns burning up ahead to limp his way up the hall.

After a few limping steps, Jack realized, given the persistent ache interspersed with sharp pains, that what he'd been trying to tell himself was a bad sprain was probably a break, or some really ugly Venn diagram of the two. God damnit.

Then again, he supposed on crutches was one way to actually get an uninterruptible Christmas vacation. And he didn't care of the zombie apocalypse started while he was stretched out on his couch. If they made it out of here alive he wasn't going to answer a call from Matilda Webber for a month of Sundays.

He hadn't been gone all that long, he didn't think, but when he slowly eased himself back down onto the overturned lockers he realized Mac had been working feverishly. The fire in the boiler was going and the barest wisps of steam were starting to be visible out the vents of the generator.

Then he realized that feverishly was the right word. Mac had stripped out of his coat and flannel and was working in just his sweat-drenched t-shirt. "Mac, buddy, it's freezing in here," Jack began.

Mac glanced up, almost startled to see him, it seemed, although Jack didn't think his moaning, groaning entrance could have been termed quiet by anyone. "Oh hey, Jack. Couldn't find any more stuff?" Without waiting for an answer, he went on. "That's okay, I found a full coal bin, so I didn't have to mod this, which I really thought I was going to need to. I tried yelling to you, but I'm kind of losing my voice …"

He trailed off and went back to using a dirty rag to try to rub some corrosion off some part he was clearly expecting to need to move and that he was worried might not. Jack shook his head. Mac in frenzied inventor mad-scientist mode wouldn't notice if the world was burning down around him, say nothing about his own body, which his young friend was only too gifted at ignoring in even ideal circumstances.

Jack tried again, "Bud, you probably want to keep some layers on, man. It's cold in here."

There was enough of the classic dad tone in Jack's voice that Mac looked up from what he was doing. "I'm sure it is since the fire's just getting going. But I'm not cold. I'm way too hot. Like I want to curl up on the couch and sleep for three days too hot. Which isn't exactly an option. So, here we are."

Jack had to chuckle a little at that. Very practical. Then he frowned because Mac just owned up to his misery instead of pretending it didn't exist. Mac had already moved on from his half-assed reassurance to Jack that he was well aware he had a fever but there was exactly jack squat he could do about it right now, other than try to think of a way to either a) get out of here or b) get a hold of Phoenix. He was back at work checking over connections and moving parts on the generator and he knew he'd need to just back off soon because it was getting hot and he could hear the water starting to bubble inside.

Not exactly reassured, Jack decided to get up and see if he could do anything to help. Mac was the genius, but working on old equipment was kind of a hobby of Jack's so he was more likely than on their average mission to be good for more than muscle or a nice tight shot in somebody's ten-ring. The second he put his full weight on his ankle he gasped and swore.

Mac's head snapped up and, generator momentarily forgotten, he jogged over. "Sit down, Jack!" Jack frowned, but complied. Mac knelt down on the floor by Jack's feet and pushed up his pantleg and looked over the injury. "Oh, man, I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm pretty sure this is busted, pal."

Jack sighed. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're right, bud."

Mac's fever-glossy eyes flashed with a little annoyance. "Why didn't you say something?"

Jack smirked and shook his head. "Because you're practically delirious! I wasn't about to let you go wandering around down here and get lost in the dark, so some Nazi zombie could eat your ginormous brain."

Mac laughed a little and shook his head, then he frowned as it made the ache in it just a little worse. He sighed and picked up his flannel from where he'd discarded it on the lockers and started tearing it into strips.

"Hey, now, you're probably gonna want that again," Jack said, leaning forward to take it out of Mac's hands.

"And you're going to want that ankle wrapped up or we're not going anywhere. I looked around, but I didn't find any first aid supplies, not even old rotten stuff, so this is what we've got." He glanced at Jack's bloody jacket sleeve. "When I'm done wrapping up your ankle, I should bandage that graze, too. I forgot all about it. Sorry, man."

"Ah, don't worry about it, bud. That stopped bleedin' a while ago."

Seeing that Mac was going to be undeterred from binding his ankle at least, Jack just rolled up his damp pantleg properly to get it out of the way and let Mac work. He had to admit, it felt almost immediately better with some pressure on it. So, it probably wasn't a bad break.

"Hey," he said noticing that Mac had put their shoes over near the boiler where it was warmest. "You think my boots are dry? I kinda got all wet and it might be nice if at least my feet were warm."

Mac gave him a very apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Jack, but I don't think your foot is going back into that boot even if you take the laces out. It's swelled up pretty badly."

Jack looked down. "Damn, I guess it has." The he looked long and hard at Mac. "What about yours? Like maybe it would be a good idea for you to have shoes on since …"

"Do not start in about me being sick and going barefoot. That's an old wives' tale and you know it."

Jack snickered. That had been exactly what he was going to say. Instead, he said, "Now I was just gonna say that if there's broken glass down here, I'd rather not have to do the John McClane but and be pickin' it outta my feet. If I can't wear my shoes, maybe you bein' in yours is a good idea just in case."

Mac narrowed his eyes at him for a second, then got up to see if his boots were dry. He grinned at Jack. "Dry as a bone." He pulled his socks and boots back on then went back over to Jack, looking like he had something to say.

"What's up now, bud?"

Mac frowned, sitting down on the lockers next to him. "I don't remember what I was going to say. Jesus, my head hurts."

"Sorry, kid. And I don't wanna say I told you so …"

"But you're going to anyway …"

"I did say maybe calling in sick wouldn't be the dumbest thing you ever did when you started getting that cough."

"Yeah, yeah, old man. The one time it turns out you're right instead of you're overreacting, and I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it." He stifled a cough and glared at Jack like it was his fault. Then his face split into a smile again at the look on his partner's face. "I'm alright, Jack. Really. Or I will be if we can get out of here."

He shivered, and Jack gave another longsuffering sigh and picked up his partner's coat, draping it around his shoulders. "You were saying?"

Mac snorted a laugh. There was no winning once helicopter parent had achieved lift off. Then he smiled, genuinely pleased as he fished in his pocket. "I forgot, I grabbed Advil out of my desk when we got to work." He took out the bottle and shook it. It was mostly full. "Between your arm and your ankle, you must be hurting. Want some?"

"If you're planning on taking some for that fever, too."

"Obviously," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Man, I hate dry swallowing these things." But he did, and he passed the bottle to Jack who shook out a very prescription strength dose of his own.

They sat for a few minutes, both noticing that it was starting to warm up in the room. For Mac all it did was make him feel colder and he slid his arms back into the sleeves of his jacket and zipped it up. For Jack it meant his damp clothes started to dry faster. And when the pressure from the steam reached adequate levels, some gears started turning and after a few minutes dim emergency lights began flickering on.

"Yes!" Mac said hoping to his feet to go make sure everything looked good with the equipment. He was just deciding that standing right next to the boiler was about the best place in the world given how cold he'd gotten when another mechanical noise started and, suspecting what it was, he grinned and ran out into the previously under water hallway.

"Jack!" he said, with a fair amount of relief. "There're pumps moving the water out of the lower levels now that the power is back on."

The kid sounded real excited about that, so Jack felt the need to respond, "That's great, bud." He waited for a minute, but Mac didn't explain further. "How does that help us other than keepin' your boots dry, kid?"

"I remember what I was gonna say before. I've read about bunker's like this. There was one a couple of college kids found a few years ago up in northern Germany and there were pipes up to the outside, for periscopes."

"Yeah?"

"So, if I can find some, I could take your phone and maybe get it up above ground to send a message to Phoenix."

"Mac, that's a great idea!" Jack felt more hopeful than he had since the tunnel they'd entered collapsed from the grenade Hans had tossed in it.

Mac swayed on his feet for a second, but steadied himself quickly. "Alright, gimme your phone. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"No ya don't, bud," Jack said pushing himself up to standing. "You're not going to wander off down here and get lost."

"Jack, I'm not gonna get lost," Mac insisted, holding his hand out for Jack's phone again.

"Kid, you can barely stand up, and you know it. Don't do the stubborn thing …"

"You have a broken ankle, dumbass! Not to mention a bullet wound."

"Bullet graze," Jack corrected with a smirk.

"Are you really going to put that fine a point on …"

"You mean am I going to be pedantic with the king of that particular habit?"

Mac was surprised into laughing. "Okay, you know what … You remembered pedantic, I think I'm just going to concede defeat."

"Good," Jack said with a nod of satisfaction, even as his eyes followed Mac starting to go around the room, opening cabinets again. "Um, bud, whatcha doin' now?"

"If your going to insist on going with me, I'm going to insist on making you a crutch."

"Well, alright then." Jack gave another satisfied nod.


	3. Chapter 3

The floor started to slant downward a while ago. Dark hallways opened up on the left and right every thirty feet or so, and Mac, who was leading the way with one of the oil lanterns from the big room with the generator in case the emergency lights failed or didn't continue at some point, had to knock some stalactites out of the way. He just didn't want Jack to have to maneuver around them.

"I thought those thingys were found in caves," Jack observed.

It was just another statement in a long line of nervous chatter. The empty dark hallways were freaking him out a little. Mac had to admit he wasn't very comfortable with them either, and staying in the main hallway seemed the most likely way to not get horribly lost down here.

"Stalactites can form just about anywhere, Jack," he answered, latching on to the tidbit as a way to distract his own thoughts from the nightmare places this dark damp place wanted his fevered brain to go. "Anything soluble can turn into them. They're usually limestone, but it's not uncommon for stalactites to form from other minerals, lava, mud, peat, pitch, geyserite … that's a really pretty opaline silica found in places like Old Faithful … even crystalized rat urine. Actually, that's probably what it is down here based on the smell."

"Ah, man. You had to say rats, didn't you?"

Mac glanced over his shoulder at Jack, whose face was already pinched with the pain of limping down here, improvised crutch or not, and now the glances he was darting down those dark hallways was even more worried than before.

"Sorry, pal. But at least we got your shoes back on so you know you're not stepping in … Right. I'll shut up."

They plodded on silently for a few minutes.

They were approaching a doorway and Mac's pace slowed a little.

"What the hell?" he said, almost forgetting Jack was with him. He stepped closer and held up the lantern to get a better look at the door frame.

"What is it, bud?" Jack asked, leaning on his makeshift crutch and letting his good leg take all the weight. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know if it was worse than the rat thing.

"This door looks like it was ripped right off the hinges." He shone the light around. "Look," he said, gesturing toward the dark hallway off to their left.

"That seems kind of … not good," Jack offered. The door itself was bent and cast aside probably ten feet down the hall.

Mac leaned against the wall, running his forehead with his free hand for a moment. He closed his eyes.

"Hey, bud, how you holdin' up?" Jack asked stepping closer and putting his hand on Mac's shoulder.

He forced his eyes open. "I'm good." He half smiled at the look Jack gave him. "Just … of course we're trapped underground by a homicidal thief, like three days before Christmas, in abandoned Nazi tunnels … feeling like hell … and now it's got to be creepy, too." He sighed. "I want a freaking vacation for Christmas."

"Way you look right now kid, I'm pretty sure you're gonna get one. Assuming we don't get eaten by Bigfoot or whatever the hell threw that door."

Mac chuckled. "I'm sure there's a totally rational explanation for it … I think I remember reading about something similar being found in another one of these places … But." He stopped, rubbing his forehead again.

"But what, kid?"

"But … The part of my brain that's good at those rational explanations is being really quiet right now. I'm gonna just blame whatever germ is currently pissing me off and keep telling myself that just because I can't think of one, doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

They edged through the battered doorway and Jack patted him on the shoulder. "I'd love to help ya, kid, but …"

"Rational explanations aren't really your forte."

Jack chuckled. "That's what I keep you around for." He paused. "Feelin' any better since you took that Advil?"

"Yeah, no, I'm a lot better," Mac replied.

"So not even at all, huh?"

Mac snorted. "I'm really o …" he trailed off as they approached another doorway. This one was battered with the door torn from it's hinges, too. "I don't want to abandon our theme of quoting Die Hard here, pal, but I got a bad feeling about this."

Jack patted him on the shoulder again. "How about 'how can the same shit happen to the same guy twice'?"

Mac laughed, and it turned into a coughing fit. He had to put down the lantern and rest his hands on his thighs until it passed. Then, to brush off how lousy he was feeling he looked up at Jack, "I said no sequel quotes, man."

"Fine. But that was a worthy sequel." Mac just gave him a look. The one that said he knew it was killing Jack to not comment on how he'd just nearly hacked up a lung. Then Jack reverted to form. You think we ought to keep going or head back up where it's warm? You sound awful, kid."

Mac bent to pick up the lantern. "Going back up there isn't going to get us any closer to outside help. And while appreciate your concern … I'm a lot more worried about getting out of here before we die of dehydration than I am about a chest cold."

"Aw, hell Mac, that's worse than bringin' up the rats, man. I hadn't even thought about not having any provisions. And I'm starving, too, even after hearing about rat-cicles."

Mac managed a chuckle. "You could eat in the middle of the zombie apocalypse while watching one of the undead eat my brains if the steak was cooked right, pal."

Jack chuckled. "Oh, hey," he exclaimed, grinning and reaching into his jacket. "I've got a candy bar in my pocket I got out of the vending machine while you were being disappointed by your lady friend. Wanna split it?"

Mac grimaced and shook his head. "No thanks, man. That's all you."

Jack frowned, but just said, "Nah, it'll keep until you want some, too."

Mac didn't bother saying that, for one thing the idea of eating anything was making his stomach turn at the moment, and for another, all it would do was make them thirstier, and for his own part he didn't think he'd ever been more thirsty. "Let's just go a little further, and if we haven't gotten eaten by Bigfoot or found some periscope tubes to up top, we'll head back, and I'll try to think of something else."

"Alright, bud. Whatever you say."

Jack's dubious eyebrow raise went uncommented on as Mac started to carefully move forward again, making sure he was going slow enough to not put any more strain on Jack's injured ankle than was entirely necessary.

Mac was more unsettled by the strange broken doorways than he would easily admit out loud. He knew it wasn't anything sinister, that something must have happened, like an earthquake or something, but his aching head couldn't quite convince his equally miserable body to knock off the pounding heart and weird chills he got each time they passed through another one.

The last time he'd been this miserably sick it had been from being submerged in foul water on a mission, not some random germ that he probably picked up at a movie theater or the bodega up the street from his house. He was whining internally because doing so out loud would just send Jack into a massive helicopter parenting spiral, and frankly one crash was quite enough for one day.

The light from the lantern caught something off to the side in one of the hallways and Mac gave a shout of surprise, backpedaling and almost knocking Jack over. "Hey, hey, what's wrong."

Mac was almost panting. "There's someone in that hallway."

Not even questioning whether something like that was possible, Jack leaned his crutch against the wall and drew his gun, pressing Mac behind him. Now that he'd had a second to catch his breath, Mac eased forward with his partner, holding the lantern out so they could see. After a minute, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just a pile of old uniforms, Mac. We're okay."

He turned to Mac, who was now unzipping his coat again, looking about as sweaty and pale and miserable as a guy could, and shaking like a leaf to boot. "I would have sworn in moved," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm getting as bad as you are."

Ignoring Mac's attempts to brush off his overreaction, Jack put his gun away and his hand on Mac's forehead again.

Mac ducked his head away, grumbling, "I'm fine."

He'd already admitted he felt like crap. What did Jack want from him, for him to curl up in a corner somewhere? Well, to be fair that's exactly what he wanted to do, but it's not like it was even an option.

"Seriously, Jack, I'm good."

"Mmm hmm," Jack said is his most skeptical voice. "And you're in no way running a high enough fever that you maybe are seeing things."

The pile of fabric on the floor shifted and Jack squealed, sounding for all the world like a ten-year-old girl. Mac jumped a little, but kept his eyes fixed on the lumpy stack of wet clothes. A rat stuck it's head out from under one of the folds, and quickly scurried out and around them back the way they had come.

"Ha, see, I told you it moved," Mac said with a laugh. "Not seeing things."

Jack gave him a glare, not wanting to admit the urge to go run back to the room with the light and heat because for a hot second everything that Jack was sure went bump in the night just raced through his brain. "You forgot to say I told you so," he said wryly.

"Well, I did. Tell you so, I mean," Mac said with a grin, trying his best to reassure Jack that he really wasn't just going to keel over on him and leave him alone down here in the dark.

Being underground was one of those genuine, not often talked about fears that Jack had only ever mentioned in dire circumstances. He realized that was maybe why Jack hadn't already gone into full Papa Bear mode even though Mac knew what he must look like based on how he felt. Jack was probably terrified of being down here to begin with and that was taking up a pretty significant part of his thoughts.

Much as he wasn't interested in being fussed over, the sooner they got what they came for here and at least got back up to the big room that didn't feel so stifling, the better Jack would feel. Also, it would get him off that busted ankle he was trying to ignore. Mac held up the lantern, prepared to head past the creepy clothes man hallway when something else down that side corridor caught his eye.

Seeing the look on his face, Jack asked, with interest, "What is it, bud?"

"Pipes. Hanging from the ceiling down there."

"You think it could be those periscope things you read about from that other bunker?"

"Only one way to find out." Mac put down the lantern again. "Um, I'm gonna need your phone and your crutch."

Jack started to protest that he'd give those things to him when they got down that hallway to the pipes he saw. "Mac …"

"Don't start arguing with me, Jack. I need you to stay here with the lantern. What if we both got down there and got turned around. We could get lost down here. If you stay here with the light, I'll be able to see my way back. I'll use your phone as a flashlight to get down there and if those pipes are what we're hoping for … Just, give me your stuff, okay?"

Mac was starting to sound hoarse, and he already sounded exhausted past the point of functioning. Jack leaned against the wall and passed Mac the crutch. Then he fished his phone out of his pocket, turned it back on, and handed it to Mac. "I'm not gettin' that back, am I?" he asked with a familiar grin.

"Do you ever?" Mac asked with a grin of his own.

"Be careful."

"I'll try, big guy," Mac replied as he started down the hallway, holding out Jack's phone for a light and skirting the sodden pile of clothes with more distance than it probably warranted. He had to pause about halfway to the hanging pipes and lean against the wall through another coughing fit that made his head absolutely pound. Before Jack could say anything, he called out, "I'm fine, Jack," and he heard his partner chuckle and mumble, "Sure you are, kid."

When he reached the pipes, he could smell fresh air coming from outside and feel the cold of it drifting down through the pipes. He leaned down to look up it, shining the phones flashlight alongside his face. "Jackpot!" he called out.

"Alright!" Jack called back. "Now what?"

"Now I try to reach Phoenix," he said, but he wasn't even sure if Jack heard him, and he was too busy trying to unscrew the bottom piece of the pipe to pay it much attention. Then he knelt down on the damp floor and used the narrow part of the crutch he'd made Jack to break the mirror and other pieces of the periscope by thrusting it up into the pipe.

He pulled it back out and let the debris fall at his feet. Then he took Jack's phone and opened the texting application. No signal down here at all. But, they'd had signal right before their helicopter went down and they couldn't have made it more than a mile from the crash site. The airfield they'd gotten the small helicopter from was right near the edge of this forest.

Mac had the fleeting thought that he wished they hadn't been in such a hurry or that Matty could have gotten them a sturdier transport. On bullet had been all it took to bring the damned thing down. Even Jack, who could fly anything, said it was flimsy as hell and he wished if he had to fly them out of the middle of nowhere it was in something safer, like a freaking hang glider maybe.

He'd just have to hope for the best. He composed a short text. " _Trapped. No provisions. Underground bunker. Vogt in the wind. Injured._ " And he hit send. The phone was searching for a signal. Mac put it inside the pipe and used the crutch to push it up as high as it would go. Hopefully it would be high enough for a signal to reach it.

He wedged the crutch in so it would stay and made his way back to Jack, disliking the tunnel even more now that he didn't have his own light source. He almost tripped over the bundle of rags and he yelped in spite of himself. Then he looked at Jack with a sheepish expression, but still managed a small laugh. "Not seeing things. I swear."

"And I swear I believe you," Jack said with a fond smile. "Do you think it worked?"

"I don't know, man. But it's the only thing I can think of at the moment. Shape we're in, even if we could get out of here … If Vogt is still out there …"

"Yeah, ole Hans is probably still after us, and there's officially nobody down here for me to swipe a machine gun off of."

Mac chuckled. If he was back on Die Hard references he was feeling better about their situation. He let Jack sling an arm around his shoulders so he could serve as a replacement crutch for the one he had to take to get the phone where it needed to be. They started slowly making their way back to the big room. Mac wondered how long he could keep the generator going.

After a little way, Mac stumbled and had to hold on to Jack for a minute. "I'm okay," he said, not sounding it, or even believing it himself. "Just dizzy."

"Mmm," Jack said, steadying his partner. "You're about a floppity gillion degrees right now. You know that, right?"

"Floppity gillion, huh?" Mac asked with a grin as he started moving again. They didn't have much father to go now. "And what is that in non-helicopter parent terms?"

"About three degrees past when I woulda dragged your skinny ass into Medical if we were home," Jack said, not finding it funny in the least.

Now that sounded more like the Jack he expected. He decided not to comment further. It would only encourage him. As they passed through the final doorway before getting back to the big room nearer the surface, Mac noticed water stains high up on the walls.

"So, I just figured out what ripped those doors off."

"Oh yeah," Jack said, and it was almost a groan. His ankle was throbbing and so was his arm. He wanted to sit down more than just about anything at the moment.

"Yeah. I bet those doors were all closed. And last hurricane season hit Europe really hard. They had all kinds of flooding here. Water coming in that fast? Probably just blew out the doors."

"So not Bigfoot."

"Big water," Mac replied, and it really did make him feel better. Pounding head, body wracking cough, floppity gillion degrees and all, he'd gotten his brain to turn back on and do what he wanted it to.

"And that makes you feel loads better, huh?" Jack asked with a smile, knowing pretty much exactly what the kid was thinking.

"Yeah, it really does," he answered as they turned into the brighter, infinitely warmer generator room.

He helped Jack sit on the overturned lockers and dragged a big box over for him to elevate his overused ankle on. Then he checked on the generator, added some coal, and used the canteen he'd found to add more water to the reservoir. He felt like he'd run a marathon in the Sahara and looked almost longingly at the filthy liquid.

Then he sighed. No purification tablets. No filter. So, no water to drink. Downing that stuff would be like drinking bleach. Unpleasant and deadly.

He sank down on the lockers next to Jack. Jack patted him on the shoulder. "Sure you don't want some of that chocolate now, kid? You look like you're gonna pass out."

Mac just closed his eyes and shook his head. That was literally the last thing on earth he wanted. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands. He was just about dozing off in that position when Jack said, "You hear that, bud?"

Mac forced himself to sit up. "Hear what?"

"Sounds like someone is shifting that debris out by the collapsed entrance. I hear rocks scraping. Could that be Phoenix?" he asked hopefully.

"Not this fast." Mac got up and went out toward the debris pile. "Damn it," he hissed after listening for a minute. He ran back to Jack. "Somebody's shifting that pile alright. And yelling. In German."

"Sonofabitch. Hans and his buddies have decided to come looking."

"They probably realized we weren't dead when the pumps started pushing water out of here. I never even thought about it …"

"Well, we'll just make 'em sorry they hung around to make sure we bought it."

Mac shook his head, regretting the movement almost instantly because it made him dizzy again. "How?"

Jack forced on a grin. Mac was never the one asking that question. It was a testament to just how miserable he must be feeling. "Well, now, I'm sure we can think of something. You know, improvise, like we do."

Mac nodded. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. He forced every part of himself to focus on ignoring how he felt. He'd gotten so good at compartmentalizing, it actually kind of worked. He returned Jack's grin. "Alright. Let's look around and see if there's still any old ammo lying around."

"You got it, kid."


	4. Chapter 4

"Jack, we don't exactly have a lot of options."

"What if it's Phoenix, man?"

"I could hear them shouting in German, Jack. It's not Phoenix."

"Mac, you thought a pile of rags was a random tunnel dweller not two hours ago."

"And you screamed like a little kid over a rat. What's your point?" Mac snapped, narrowing his eyes at the stabbing pain that lanced through his temples when he raised his voice.

"That you're maybe not thinking, um … up to your usual standard."

Mac rolled his eyes. "I've got a virus or something, not a massive head injury, guy who headbutts everyone and then still wants to call the shots on missions."

The impact of his statement was somewhat diminished by needing to reach up and wipe the sweat off his forehead.

"Are you really sure?"

"Sure as I can be, and we haven't found a good way out or decent weapons. And honestly Jack …" Mac paused, not really want to say it, but figuring it needed saying. "Neither one of us is in any kind of shape to take Vogt's gang with what we have. You can barely walk and I … I've felt better," he finished somewhat lamely. "This'll get us some breathing room … If, ya know, I don't burry us alive."

Jack gave a nervous laugh. Then he gave Mac a familiar look of intense concern. "You gonna be okay going back down there on your own?"

Mac picked up the lantern. "Yeah, I'm fine. You need to stay off that ankle as much as you can. For now, anyway. And we need to work fast."

Jack nodded and just started cleaning out the ancient cans of food they'd found in the lockers, making a face that said he might never eat anything out of a can again after this. He might need to stay off his ankle, but Mac was going to need to just stay off his feet in general before too long. They been down here without water for about eight hours already and the kid had one hell of a fever.

Mac made his way quickly down the hallway, not looking left or right any more than he had to. It had felt a lot less creepy when he'd had Jack's distracting company. Also, he knew right where he was going this time. He'd counted the doorways before as a way to distract himself.

This time he started trying to recall the text from the article he'd read about a similar set of tunnels. It was what sent him back down here into the damp darkness after all. He tried forcing himself to see the words on his tablet, to feel the comfortable cushions of his couch, the cool breeze from his air conditioner across the back of his neck.

It came to him perfectly after a few minutes. 'Probably most harrowing for the pair of students,' the article claimed. 'Was the small armory off the hallway where the periscope tubes were found. Powder, bullets, guns, and even a variety of knives were still just waiting inside their dark discovery, as though at the ready for the ghosts of Nazi's past.'

He snickered to himself. Article was probably a very generous term. Clickbait was more accurate. But the pictures had been creepy and pretty cool. Bozer had been the one to show it to him, saying he wished he could film a horror movie in one of those places. Mac had just laughed and said, "Find someone else to be your movie monster then, Boze. That water looks like raw sewage."

If this place was set up the same way and he found what he needed to build the explosives to discourage Vogt's men from coming in after them, at least for long enough for Phoenix to get there or for them to find another way out, he might have to agree to be the movie monster, just for old time's sake.

He had to stop a couple of times and just lean against the wall for a minute or two, because his cough was bad enough that it made his vision go sort of red when he was caught in a fit of it. As soon has he got his breath, he forced himself to keep moving. This was the flu or something even nastier; and he hated to admit it, but Jack had almost certainly been right when he told Mac … well, it had to be two days ago now … that he should call in sick. Now, they didn't have time for him to be sick. Whether he was or not.

He passed the last door way on his count (or at least he was pretty sure it was; counting was not easy through the headache and general fog he was feeling). Even though he was expecting it, Mac recoiled a little at the sight of the pile of wet rags in that hallway.

Okay, it hadn't just been the light, or his distraction, or how lousy he felt before. Knowing what he was coming up on, that still looked like someone crouched down in the hallway. That actually made him feel a little better about his overreaction earlier. He gave the pile a wide berth again as he made his way down the hall.

He searched several rooms off that dark hallway. Finally, in the last room, right off the area with the periscopes, he found the remains of the bunker's small armory. Someone had cleaned it out of useful items at some point. But there was still a big locked cabinet.

Mac got out his Swiss Army knife and took out the removeable tweezers, bending them into an impromptu lock pick. When he got it open, he grinned hugely. He couldn't tell if this was really that big a find or if he was starting to be a little delirious, but regardless, it was a sight that warmed him.

He stuffed his pockets and slung things around his neck so he could carry everything that he wanted immediately. Then he stepped back into the hall way. He looked at the periscopes. He knew they needed to get the explosives he was hoping to build pulled together quickly, but part of him, wanted to know if Riley had received their message, if the text had gone through.

Normally that part of him would have been very small, something he could ignore, but Jack may have been right about his thinking not being entirely normal for him because he wanted, almost desperately to know, if he would have to keep going and figure a way out of this, or if his team was on it's way, and he could maybe just sit once the Vogt threat was neutralized.

He struggled to loosen the crutch from the pipe. He'd really wedged it in there before, and the muscle aches from whatever doomsday virus he'd caught made him feel a little weak. When it came loose, the phone dropped out of the pipe too fast to catch. He heard an irrevocable crunching sound when it hit the floor by his feet.

He wanted to sit down on the floor and have a complete childish tantrum at the sound of his answer breaking. But when he looked down he could see the screen was lit. He bent to pick it up and nearly went over on his ass from the pain in his head and the dizzy spell that gripped him. But he braced against the damp slimy wall and managed to pick it up.

The screen was spidered all over, making it impossible to read, but he could just make out the different color of the reply text bubble under the grey of the sent text. Riley had gotten the text and sent some sort of reply. It sucked to not know what the reply was, or even if she'd been able to determine their approximate location, but at least she knew they'd survived the crash and needed help.

"It's not much," he said quietly to himself, quoting Jack almost against his will. "But it's not nothin'."

Just in case Phoenix needed the phone signal to find them, he stuffed the phone back up into the pipe and shoved it as far as it would go with the crutch again. Then he wedged it back in again. He was making his slow way back up the hall when he heard Jack's distance shout, "Hurry up Mac, or we're gonna have company!"

Not even thinking, Mac broke into a run only to be sent sprawling by the wet rags near the entrance to the hallway. The lamp broke with a crash. He skidded to a stop just shy of hitting his head on the opposite wall. _Great_ , he groaned to himself, _now on top of sick, and probably some stunningly cracked ribs from the crash, I've face planted in whatever the hell is all over this floor. And the hit's just keep on comin'_.

Jack called out again, but Mac couldn't for the life of him translate what words he heard into intelligible speech. And for just a minute, he wanted to just go to sleep on the filthy floor. But, he got to his hands and knees. And then slowly to his feet. He could see the faint light from the generator room what looked like a million miles away up the dark hall, but he kept his eyes focused on it. He didn't quite manage a run back to Jack, but he thought he approximated a job pretty well without keeling over.

When he turned into the warmer, brighter room, he saw Jack widen his eyes a little at him. He didn't want to know how bad he looked, especially now filthy from the fall. Jack had the 'helicopter mode imminent' look, so Mac distracted him by unslinging an early Christmas present from behind his back and tossing it to his partner, even as he got to work building the explosive charges he needed to discourage Hans … damnit, now he was doing it, too … and his men.

"What the ..?"

"It's probably not still serviceable and there wasn't any ammo for it, but … It felt appropriate to the occasion," Mac answered with a small grin.

"Yeah man, this is a _Maschinengewehr_ 34\. It was adapted from the MG30 and started being issued all over the German military around 1935. Everybody used this thing _. Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe, SS_ … But if it's not functional, why'd you lug it back here?"

"Now, you've got a machine gun. Ho ho ho," Mac said and was immediately rewarded with the pleasant crinkling of Jack's features. Then just to shore up his position as still well enough to be himself, he teased, "And you pick on me when I rattle off science stuff … You knew what that thing was before you even caught it, and I bet you could go on about it all day."

Jack chuckled in spite of himself. "You're probably right." Then Mac coughed into the crook of his arm and Jack's expression fell again. Mac gave him the don't-say-it eyeroll and Jack admirably restrained himself. "Can I help at all, bud?"

Mac cleared his throat and tossed Jack a bag of the random bullets he'd brought back. "You could get the blasting caps and powder out of those for me."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, which underscored the fact that Hans and his people were getting closer because now they could distinctly hear the scrapes of rocks sliding against each other. Mac rushed to get the charges places and the fuses run. Because Jack wasn't all that mobile without a fair amount of pain, Mac made him get under cover before he went to light things up.

He was just running back into the room when his explosion happened, and it knocked him off his feet and set dust cascading down over everything from the ceiling. "You alright Jack?" Mac called out as he pushed himself up off the floor.

Jack hobbled out from behind one of the sets of lockers that was still standing. "I'm good, kid. You?"

"Mmm," Mac replied noncommittally as he headed back out and up the hallway a little to see what damage he'd managed to do. When he came back in, he was giving his partner a lopsided grin. "Only way they're getting through that is with a tank, man."

Jack had sat back down on the overturned lockers and put his foot up on the crate Mac had brought him earlier. He raised an eyebrow at Mac and just patted the spot next to him. Mac couldn't even pretend to not want to sit. He moved stiffly as he sat down next to Jack. He didn't even really roll his eyes this time when Jack reached out a hand at felt his forehead.

"Jesus, kid. I was kind of hoping the fact that you're not dripping sweat anymore was a good sign, but now I'm more worried than I was before."

Mac gave a rueful snort. "We've been hours without water, Jack. And yeah, I know … I'm too warm. There's nothing we can do about it though," he said, sounding more defeated than he cared for, but he was just so damned tired and about as miserable as he could be and still keep going.

"Not sweating is not good, bud."

This time Mac did roll his eyes. "Dude, I know, okay?" He sounded annoyed, and frustrated, and just a tiny bit concerned. That last part, he didn't care much for, so he just pressed his lips together instead of saying anything else.

Ignoring the fact that Mac stiffened at first, Jack put an arm around him and pulled him into his side. "Ah, hell, kid, you know how I am. Can't even help it at this point. Old dogs and all that."

Mac relaxed a little. Leaning against Jack was the best he'd felt in a while. Holding himself upright was getting to be a real chore. He sighed and felt his head, sort of without consulting the brain inside it, drop down onto Jack's shoulder. Jack refrained from commenting on either how hot that head was or how out of character it was for Mac to just start basically napping against him. It had happened a handful of times in a lot of years and some fairly terrible situations.

"I wish we knew if Phoenix was on their way," Jack said, more to himself than anything.

Mac's head snapped up. "I forgot. I checked the phone."

"And?" Jack prompted.

Mac looked confused for a second, then shook his head, as if to clear it. "Um … I kind of broke the screen, but the text went through and somebody texted us back. At least they know we're alive."

"Mmm. Wish I knew how close they were to getting us exfil, man."

"Me, too. And I think I finally get that whole Richard the Third thing."

"Huh?"

"You know, the 'my kingdom for a horse'. I'd give up a kidney for a half cup of water. Which is ironic, because, you know, your kidneys are pretty much the first thing to go if you get excessively dehydrated."

Jack chewed his lip. Mac was trying to make light of the situation and failing miserably. "I'd give one of my kidneys to get you a half cup of water, too, kid." Jack didn't add that he was thirsty as hell, too. He wasn't the one spiking a fever and hacking up a lung every five minutes.

Mac's head had dropped back onto Jack's shoulder. "Well, actually, water isn't the problem. We have all kinds of water down here. It's just filthy and would almost definitely be deadly to drink it. Very unpleasantly deadly, I imagine," he said, almost mumbling. "Dysentery, e. coli, campylobacter, salmonella … and then there're parasitic agents to consider …"

"Okay. Yuck. Let's not think about death by … water." Jack checked the inside of his cheek, looking around the room, trying to get his much-slower-and-less-inventive-than-Mac's brain to do Mac's usual job. He frowned at the generator. "What about steam?"

"Hmmm?" Mac asked sleepily.

"Couldn't we boil the water and condense the steam? Wouldn't that clean it enough?"

Mac's head snapped up and he was sitting upright almost instantly, practically beaming at his partner. "Jack! That's brilliant!"

His eyes were already ranging around the room, looking for a way to make that happen. He saw what he needed and got to his feet, swaying for just a second before his overwhelming need to work the problem shoved how he was feeling into a nice neat box that he could ignore for a little while.

Jack got up and limped over to where Mac was already pulling stuff out of a cabinet. "Hey, kid," Mac turned around and looked like he really wanted to tell his partner to sit back down, but Jack went on. "Lemme help, huh?"

"Okay. Yeah."

He paused, thinking that as frustrated as he got with Jack sometimes, mostly with his overprotective streak, he was grateful the man knew him as well as he did. Her knew him so well that he'd practically picked the idea that had been lurking under the surface of his headache, and said it out loud so he could latch onto it.

Mac managed a smile, knowing that his partner wasn't the only frustrating one in their relationship. "Thanks, man."

And they both knew what he meant.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is pretty awful," Jack said, not quite complaining, more looking for Mac to say something. The kid had been staring off into space for over a minute.

"Hmmm?" Mac replied, focusing in on Jack, who he knew had said something, but that he hadn't quite heard over the echoing fullness in his ears.

He thrust the canteen back into Mac's hands. "I said this water is pretty awful."

Mac took a long pull of the water and handed it back with a shrug. "It's alright. It's clean, at least."

"It tastes like pennies."

"It tastes like aluminum, because that's what the container is made out of."

"It's real warm."

"No worse than out of a canteen on a summer day up in Helmond, Jack." Mac started coughing after even just a few words. Unable to just cough into his arm any more, he doubled over. He was absolutely positive he had cracked ribs, based on how much coughing hurt, but he was pretty sure there were no breaks, at least none poking into anything. He'd coughed stuff up and there was no blood. That was something.

Jack's arm went around him again. "Ain't you Mr. Brightside all of a sudden," he observed. Mac just gave a spare head shake and a slight sideways grin. "This might sound like a weird thing to be happy about, but you're kind of sweaty again."

Mac nodded. "Yeah. Dehydrated, but not scary dehydrated is good, I guess."

He sighed.

"What is it, bud?"

"We're almost out of coal, Jack. Another couple of hours tops."

"Well, I don't much treasure the idea of being down here in the cold and dark, we do have the lanterns and we both have coats. Phoenix won't be too long, I bet, anyway."

Mac nodded, then held his hand out for the canteen again. His tongue felt like it was rolled in sand. "Yeah, but we've got this canteen and the one that's filling off the condenser, which may or may not fill before we run out of coal. So we'll be cold, in the dark, and in serious danger of dehydration again. We won't have enough water even if that one fills. Especially …"

Mac just shrugged and took a drink, grimacing at the taste, no matter what he said about it out loud.

Jack gave him a hard look. "Especially since your fever hasn't come down with more Advil and getting some water into you."

It was what Mac was thinking, and how quickly Jack had gotten exactly there was vaguely disconcerting. "I was going to say 'especially since we don't know how long Phoenix might be, or whether they were able to get an exact location'," he insisted, taking another drink and then offering the rapidly emptying canteen to his partner.

Jack shook his head and tipped his chin at Mac. "I've had plenty. Drink if you're thirsty, kid."

Mac nodded, not paying one hundred percent attention to his partner, rather trying to come up with half a plan that he could execute to get them out of here and defend them from any of the men that might still be roaming the woods looking for them that didn't involve Jack being up on his feet more than he had to be. After a minute, he glanced at Jack, with a slight smile.

"You ever gonna stop calling me kid? I'm pushing thirty, pal."

"No," Jack grinned. "Because I'm ways going to be like two decades older than you, which makes you a kid compared to me, even if you're almost eighty and I'm a hundred."

Mac didn't say that at the moment just getting through another trip around the sun would be a pleasant surprise. Instead he gave Jack a reasonably convincing grin of his own. "I guess that's fair. Old man."

Jack studied his partner for a couple of minutes, watching him absently sip from the canteen with a furrowed brow. "We need to get out of here," Jack observed, not quite sure if he thought it was a good idea or a bad idea, but knowing that's what Mac was thinking about and having something to focus on seemed to be keeping his general misery at a tolerable level.

Mac, even feeling like hell and hearing everything through a haze of congestion and fever, could hear the reserve in his partner's statement. But he nodded, making decently clear-eyed eye contact with Jack. "I think we do." He paused, reading Jack's reasons for hesitation in his eyes. "Anything we do is going to be a gamble, Jack. Including staying here."

"What are you thinking, bud?" he asked, still giving Mac a very speculative look.

"I was actually remembering the thing I read about some of these bunkers. There's almost always more than one exit."

"Don't you think Vogt's men have thought of that, too?" Jack asked.

The fact that he wasn't calling their package Hans anymore was a bad sign as far as Mac was concerned. Whenever Jack got too serious it meant he was more worried about Mac than he was about their situation. Jack could always joke about their situation, but almost never joked about Mac's well-being.

Unless he was being a jerk about trying to get him to own up to something that he thought was a bigger deal than Mac did, the blond thought with an internal eyeroll.

'I don't think our Hans Gruber has thought of much, to be honest Jack." He waited for the small smile he'd been hoping to elicit to appear before going on. "I also think that it's got to be the middle of the night now, and there was a snow storm rolling in. That's why we were in such a hurry to get the hell out of Dodge and took the less optimal route to get back to Berlin."

Mac paused and took a drink to stave off a coughing fit. Jack noticed, but didn't comment.

"So even if they are still hanging around hoping to jump us … and I'm betting we chased them off with that last explosion … It's going to be dark, and cold, and snowing like hell out there by now. If we can find a viable exit, we can probably get away."

Jack shifted, not wanting to state the obvious, because he was sure Mac had already thought of it, but since it hadn't come up, he felt like he ought to. "Mac, buddy, getting out under cover of snow and the hope that those guys have hightailed it for a warm fire is a great idea, but …" Mac just waited for Jack to continue. "We don't have any idea where there might be another exit … And neither one of us is in great shape for wandering around aimlessly. Besides, what if we get really deep in here and the generator quits? We'll be lost in the dark as soon as our lantern runs out of oil, man."

Mac nodded. "Thing is … I think I know where we can find an exit." Jack nodded for him to go on. "I was thinking about the thing I read, and all the places had a room down deep, deep enough to be safe from air raids. And all the pictures I saw had ladders up to the surface from that inner room."

Jack frowned. "How deep?"

Mac shrugged. "Around 200 feet or so."

Jack's frown deepened, almost against his will. "Um … I mean, I think I could probably manage that climb, even with the bum pin I've got at the moment, but Mac …"

"Yeah, I know. It won't be fun, but I've pulled off worse climbs."

Jack put a hand on his partner's overly warm shoulder. "Oh, I wasn't worried about that, bud. We've jumped out of planes together when that's what needed to happen. You know I know you can handle anything that comes your way whether you're afraid or not."

Mac gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "If you're so confident in my superhuman abilities, why the helicopter dad face, partner?"

Jack made his most apologetic face and squeezed Mac's shoulder. "Disadvantage to the light we've got in here at the moment, kid, is I can see just how pale and shaky you are."

Mac forced himself to his feet, imbuing his motions with more energy and ease than was natural on even a good day. "I'm fine, Jack."

Jack sighed, and really wanted to get to his feet to be eye to eye with the kid, but his throbbing ankle and the prospect of having to be up on it again, kept him in his seat. "Yeah, you look it. Oh wait, I'm mistaken. Fine was about three days ago. Now you look like 'guy who will be spending Christmas in Medical if he even manages not to fall off two hundred feet of ladder underground'."

Mac snorted derisively, a futile gesture since it triggered a coughing fit that had him sitting back down next to Jack. When it passed he looked into Jack's face with more seriousness than he typically would have let pass in this situation. "Jack, I'll be happy to spend Christmas just about anywhere. If we stay down here and run out of water …"

"People can last up to a week without water," Jack asserted, trying to buy some time to think of a better solution than wandering deeper into these tunnels with his partner looking and sounding dead on his feet.

"Healthy people can last three to five days, Jack. And I'm not …" he trailed off. "We need to try something. And if we're lucky, we'll get out of here and Phoenix will be waiting."

Jack didn't comment on their likelihood of suddenly finding luck, just levered himself to his feet and helped Mac up. Mac was right. He wouldn't last down here much longer. He was sick as hell and exhausted. "I don't know if we should …"

"Jack," Mac paused, rubbing his aching forehead. "We have to try something, right?"

"Okay, kid. Let's do this."


	6. Chapter 6

"Jack, just lean on me, okay?" Mac said, not quite snapping this time, but not managing to sound like it was just the offer of a friend either.

Jack suppressed the growl that wanted to happen. "Mac, you can barely hold yourself up …"

"Listen … _DAD_ ," Mac said with all the sharp discontent he could muster. "You have a broken ankle. And we've been walking for the better part of an hour and you lost your crutch in that water we had to wade through. If you don't lean on me now, you're never going to make it up any ladder we find."

Jack was still shivering from their trek through the icy black nearly chest-deep water and was still almost awed that Mac had managed to haul him through after he'd lost the new improvised crutch as well as keep their final lit lantern aloft through multiple coughing fits and dizzy spells. It had been all Jack could do just to keep his weapons above water. He didn't have much ammo, and some was better than none, but only if it was dry.

Mac joked that Jack thought he had super powers a lot. Thing was, Jack didn't necessarily find it all that funny. Kid was a force of nature most of the time. Instead of arguing though, he allowed Mac to take more of his weight. Not because he wanted to, but because Mac was getting touchier the lousier he felt and Jack didn't want him wasting energy on being pissed off.

"Sorry, Mac. I just … I didn't want to make things harder."

Mac grimaced with the effort of holding Jack up over some uneven ground caused by a partial tunnel collapse. "I know, just, we're close. I can tell. Don't strain yourself before we have to climb up, Jack."

"I appreciate your optimism, kid, you know I do …" Jack was practically panting with pain and exertion now. "But, how _are_ you do damned sure?"

Mac chuckled a little and Jack wondered if the kid's fever didn't finally have him just a little delirious. "It's warm again, Jack." When Jack didn't reply, he went on. "We're getting really deep now if it's warmer. It's gotta be in the fifties down here. That's like geothermal heating depths. Much deeper would have been crazy."

"Mac, the Nazis were crazy," Jack pointed out.

Mac shook his head. "Not delusional crazy though, just your standard run of the mill evil kind."

Before he could stop himself, Jack blurted, "Like Murdoc?"

Mac shivered involuntarily, whether from the name or his fever Jack couldn't accurately guess. "Murdoc is … both … I think."

The dim bluish lights above them guttered for a moment, like flames caught in the wind. Jack almost flinched. Mac's arm tightened around his waist.

"We're gonna get out before it fails, Jack." His voice was so sure. And so hoarse. Even soaked to the skin and through his coat, Jack could feel the heat of him now, and it was even more distracting than his own throbbing ankle and angry burning arm.

"'Course we are, bud."

He tried really hard to sound like he believed it.

"You sound less than sure, old man. Which is why … I don't believe in much of anything, other than evidence … and possibility. And what I know of these places tells me, I'm right."

At that moment the blinking weak lights overhead in the hallways went out. Mac swore under his breath, but led them around the corner. He stopped and held up the lantern.

Jack's eyes followed the light upward. There was a ladder of sorts. Just metal rungs sticking out of concrete, but a ladder nonetheless. "Whoa," Jack observed. "Guess you were right, kid."

"Yeah," Mac said, almost breathlessly. He sighed deeply, preparing to climb, and dissolved into a coughing fit that had him letting go of Jack and holding on to the ladder with both hands just to keep from sinking to the floor.

He thought if he got down there, he'd never get back up.

"Mac … Kid. Are you okay?" Jack asked in a tone that said he wasn't going to believe anything positive that came out of his partner's mouth.

Mac fought to get his breathing back under control. When he felt like he was at least approaching that, he panted, "Not really," and wobbled like he might fall.

He almost regretted his honesty when Jack's arms went around him, pulling him into his partner's broad chest.

"Ow," he said quietly.

"Oh, shit, Mac, sorry. Thought you were going over on me, there."

Mac hadn't said it was a problem, but Jack had cut Mac out of the harness on the helicopter and he knew there was at least some pretty serious bruising, if not, broken bones that resulted from the crash.

"I'm fi - ," Mac began, then discarded his reassurance. "I can keep going, Jack, for a while anyway," he asserted more honestly. "How about you? Do you think you can make it up?"

Jack looked up into the dark. Then he looked back at Mac. "I can if you can, kid."

Mac nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at the ladder, somewhat daunted.

"Yeah," he sighed. Then he put the lantern down on the floor and put a foot on the first rung.

"Um, Mac?"

Mac turned to his partner. "Yeah?"

"I don't think I can climb and carry the lantern. I'm gonna need both hands. My upper body is gonna have to do most of the work."

"Yeah, I know." Jack frowned at him. "I can't carry it and climb either." He took a breath, but not a deep one. He no longer dared a deep breath. Those kept setting him coughing. "We're just going to have to take advantage of the light from below and then kinda … climb by feel, I guess."

Instead of waiting for Jack to formulate a response to that, Mac started climbing, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the rung above him. After a minute, Jack followed, casting a longing glance at the lantern. "Always at the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Without looking down at his partner, Mac replied, "I thought we agreed no sequel quotes, Jack."

"That wasn't a quote," Jack protested.

" _Live Free or Die Hard_ , Jack. McLane says it right before he shoots Gabriel."

"Damn it. I can't sneak anything past you," Jack said, half laughing and half finding his partner's memory utterly exasperating.

"And someday you'll stop trying," Mac said with a snicker.

As they made their slow way up toward the surface (they hoped), Mac was thinking again just how miserable wet socks and wet feet were, say nothing of wet everything else. And he was the most unpleasant combination of shivering with cold, and baking heat that he remembered ever being.

The shivering was the worst part. It made it hard to grasp the ladder rungs, made his feet feel like they were going to slip. He hazarded a glance down at Jack and sucked in his breath when he was surprised at how far away the little circle of light below them had gotten. Of course that got him coughing and sniffling again.

The fourth or fifth time Mac had to pause, Jack finally couldn't hold his tongue anymore. "How you holdin' up, Mac?"

The hoarse reply, "About like I sound," drifted down to him. It was followed by, "How about you?"

"Oh, ya know, 'nother day in paradise."

He heard Mac wheeze what was probably a laugh. "I can't decide if that's a sequel quote or just really appropriate to our situation, so I'm gonna let it slide."

"And I appreciatcha."

Mac had only just barely started to get back in the rhythm of the climb when he stopped again. "Hang on."

"What's up, bed?"

"No more rungs … Hang on."

Jack couldn't really see anything going on above him, but he heard Mac moving around, followed by a whispered, "Well, this sucks," and then it got quiet.

Jack waited a couple of minutes. "Mac, buddy?" he called out.

From further above him that he was anticipating he heard, "I'm right here, Jack. Um … this isn't what I was expecting, but …"

"What's going on Mac? I can't see anything, can you?"

"Not much, no. See, the thing is, in about six rungs from where you are, you're going to come to the top of the ladder … And there's no exit above like we thought. There's a tunnel. I have tried feeling my way down it, but it's cold as hell, and I can hear the wind so we've got to be close to the surface."

Jack started to move to the next rung, but Mac stopped him. "Thing is … You're going to have to balance on the top rung and … kind of lean against the wall and stretch up to get to the opening. I had to stand on my toes so I'm not sure your ankle …"

"I'm taller than you, kid. I'll be okay."

"Not that much taller, and your arms must be tired from taking your weight off your ankle anyway, so I'm gonna try lying on the floor up here to pull you up as much as I can."

"No you most certainly will not," Jack said, not quite sharply, but almost.

"Jack," he started.

"You can barely hold yourself up. I heard all your huffin' and puffin' and that coughing fit you had a minute ago. And I'd like to point out, for just a second, that I might be freaked out by a lot of things, bein' on a sketchy ladder isn't actually one of them. I got this, kid. Just back up outta the way."

Jack heard a distinctly irritated sigh, followed by coughing into a sleeve. Jack glanced down and even he had a moment where his stomach dropped a little at how far below their dim lantern glowed. He'd be a lot happier about this situation if he wasn't trying to pull this off on a busted ankle and a throbbing arm. But, there was really nothing for it at this point. Even if he were so inclined, he didn't think he could make the climb back down.

"I'm comin' up, kid," Jack announced and started to do just that.

He was unprepared for just how precarious it felt to get to that top couple of rungs where all you had to hang onto was the smooth damp wall. And his boots were wet and slippery. And his ankle was throbbing in time to his heartbeat, elevated from the climb. His arm had the disturbing tight feeling that said the graze was probably getting infected. And he was wet. And hungry. And thirsty. "Aw shut up," he grumbled at himself.

"What?" Mac called down.

"Just bitchin' and feelin' sorry for myself, Mac. It's not helping."

"Never does," Mac agreed. "I've been doing it for hours and here we still are."

Jack took a deep breath and started the last leg of trying to get into the tunnel above. Jack eased up the wall, almost holding his breath. He got his hands on the ledge and was in a pretty good position to heave himself up over the edge.

But his wet book that was only half on over his swollen ankle slipped and for a minute, time slowed down. He could feel himself tipping backward, his arms starting to pinwheel to regain his balance. He couldn't hear anything but the sound of his own blood, rushing in his ears. And he didn't even seem able to call out for help. He felt his loosely warn boot fall off and start to fall. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to follow it, down into the dark.

Suddenly two warm strong hands had a grip on his forearms and were pulling him forward over the lip of the tunnel entrance. "Oh, no you don't, pal," Mac's voice said, from some disembodied place in the pitch blackness.

Jack did his best to use his feet to push himself up and into the tunnel, getting as much of his body off that ledge as he could, as quickly as possible. He felt Mac let go, and he lay panting on the floor for a minute. Then he forced himself up onto his hands and knees. "Mac, where are ya buddy?"

He heard a couple of pained, labored breaths, and then finally an almost whispered, "Right here, Jack."

From the kid's voice, he was definitely sitting on the floor, close by. Jack slid over the floor in the direction of the voice and reached a hand out in front of him and it connected with the sleeve of Mac's damp leather coat. Jack sat next to his partner and put an arm around him.

He didn't comment on the body wracking shivers that were coursing through him or the ragged sound of his breathing. He could tell Mac's arms were wrapped around his ribs. _Probably strained what was already injured pulling my sorry ass up here_ , Jack thought. "Thanks for the assist, bud," Jack said instead of all the things he was thinking.

Mac took a couple of careful breaths. "Any … time."

They just sat like that for a few minutes. When Jack no longer felt like he was going to have a heart attack from the adrenaline of nearly falling off the face of the earth, he started to get to his feet. "You stay put. I'll be right back."

He felt Mac forcing himself up beside him, using the wall for support. "Not likely, partner."

"I'm just gonna feel my way along here and see if I can find a door or something, bud."

"Jack, we can't see anything. You really want to get separated? Besides, I already told you, I'm your designated crutch until we can find a better way to keep your weight off that ankle." He coughed again and then swore under his breath.

Jack wanted to argue, wanted his partner to just sit and rest, but, as usual, the kid had a point. "Alright, then. Let's go."

He made a show of letting Mac support him, and it was awkward as hell to walk along this tunnel in one boot and one totally bare foot, but using the wall, and ignoring the distinct feeling of bone grinding against bone, he was able to not just pull a rapidly weakening blond genius over.

They both felt it at almost the same moment. They registered it in the other's movement before either of them said anything. Cold tendrils of air were coming from the space in front of them. Even though they couldn't see anything, they still turned their heads toward each other. "Door," they concluded at the same time.

They moved forward quickly, each forgetting the show they were making of letting the other support them, and they started feeling blindly around for some kind of handle. After a couple of minutes groping in the blackness, Jack crowed in victory.

"Whoohooo! Stand back while I give this a shot, kid."

Mac obliged, coughing a bit and leaning against the wall, just out of the way.

He heard the door give before Jack felt it. Then when its ancient hinges finally really released, Jack almost went over on his ass. He squinted into the dim world outside, even the little bit of moonlight seemed bright to his eyes and it took him a moment to adjust.

The door opened onto a narrow set of stairs and you could just make out the forest beyond. It might not have been so hard to see, but it was snowing steadily and the wind was blowing. "Let's get outta here, kid," Jack said to the shadow next to him that he could now see some of.

"'Kay," Mac answered. Then he sensed Jack's pause of concern. "Let's do this."

Mac offered Jack his shoulders again. Jack frowned, but accepted.

They got about half way up the steps before they could hear distant voices. They shared a look. Both of them read it as the "Oh, shit," it was meant to be.

Then they heard the barking of at least two dogs.

"Sonofabitch," Jack growled, and looked down at his watch.

Mac looked at his partner, at something of a loss. "Now what?" he asked, sounding utterly done, and somewhat defeated. Jack didn't have all that much ammo, and Mac felt like he only had access to about a third of his mental capacity and even that wasn't working so hot around the throbbing in his temples.

Jack actually gave him a sideways grin. "Now we run."

Mac looked around in the snowy dark. It all looked the same to him at this point, the only frame of reference the tunnel from which they had just emerged.

Jack held up his watch, reminding Mac he had a compass. "I've been keeping track of our direction this whole time kid. The airfield is off that way, to the east. And we know there's a small town just north of there. Either spot gets us phone or radio access. All we gotta do is avoid Hans and his henchmen a little longer, kid."

"Okay." Mac said. "Yeah. We can make it that far."

Clearly he was trying to convince himself.

They reached the top of the stairs. "You ready, kid?"

Mac bent and scooped up some snow and put it in his mouth like he just couldn't help himself. He sighed almost contentedly as the cool water from the melt bathed his raw throat. He gave Jack a small smile when his partner did the same thing.

"Okay, Jack. Let's go."

Jack gave him an encouraging crooked smile as they prepared to move out. "I got a sequel quote, and man, I really wanna say it."

Mac rolled his eyes, but felt himself really smiling. "Fine."

"Geronimo!"


	7. Chapter 7

The short-term mission of 'Get to where there is a phone' had gone better than Mac had hoped. They'd made it from tree to tree over the course of an hour without Vogt's men really getting any closer, although the dogs had ranged ahead of their masters and gotten distressingly close a couple of times.

The fact that the animals had just passed them by was actually not as encouraging to Mac as it was to Jack. For starters, it meant they were cold. Dogs were pretty good at zeroing in on heat. Between being wet when they came out here, and the fact that he'd stopped shivering, Mac was more than a little concerned they were hypothermic. Or at least _he_ was. Jack was still shivering from time to time.

And they clearly didn't smell like people. Mac wouldn't have known how bad the water they'd waded through smelled anyway; he was just too congested and miserable, but he'd seen Jack wrinkle his nose a couple of times. It made Mac worry for Jack's open wound from the bullet graze, and for both of them in general, having been immersed in it a couple of times. The only other time Mac ever remembered feeling this bad, it had been from getting shoved into dirty water.

He was leaning against a tree, sucking on some snow to stop an impending coughing fit, when Jack jostled his shoulder, fairly hard. "What?" he hissed, irritated to have been almost knocked off his feet by his predictably over-zealous partner.

Jack got eye-level with Mac. "Bud, I've been tryin' to get your attention for probably five minutes."

Mac just frowned in response and rubbed his temples absently.

Jack couldn't keep helicopter dad expression off his face anymore. "There's light over there, looks like a little group of houses."

"Yeah? So what?"

Occupied houses didn't seem all that interesting to Mac. Vogt was local to the area, and they'd discussed not wanting to risk engaging with the locals in case they were either on his payroll, or at least friendly with him.

"Bud, I think we have to risk it."

"What about trying to make the airfield …"

"It's where Hans and the dogs headed off to. I'm freezing. My ankle is killing me and the wrap you did is cold and wet. I'm gonna get frostbite on top of everything else. My arm feels too warm compared to the rest of me, and _you_ …" Mac glared at his partner and Jack just tipped him a wink. "Don't even get me started."

Mac chuckled and coughed all at once and then half smiled at Jack. "That bad, huh?" he asked, knowing it was pretty damned bad.

"Kid, I'm gonna just say right now, you need medical attention. Like not a little of it."

"I don't think you're necessarily wrong," he admitted, wincing a little at the immediate flare of concern in Jack's expression. "I mean, I'm fine, but I'm not gonna argue."

His sideways smirk clearly reassured Jack. His partner knew his words for what they were; trying to make him feel better. But, he appreciated it, and was also comforted because Mac was feeling enough like himself to kid around a little bit.

"Is that a promise?" Jack said, with a teasing grin of his own.

"It's a … hedge against you freaking out before we even know if we can get out of this," Mac said with an affectionate head shake.

Jack shook his own head, "Nope. It was a promise. I'm pretty sure I heard you say it. You just don't remember; you bein' basically delirious and all."

"Alright, alright," Mac waved dismissively. "Let's see if we can get into a situation where I could even pretend to be likely to live up to this promise I totally didn't make before we argue about it."

Jack patted him on the shoulder, "Good man. You think you can help your partner get to the tree line?"

Mac's eyes flashed with concern. This was pretty much the first time Jack had asked for his help instead of grudgingly accepting it. No longer resistant to heading in and taking their chances with a local, Mac just slid an arm around Jack's waist and nudged him, so he'd know he could lean on him. "Of course."

It was snowing like hell, but nonetheless, Jack concealed a small smile. He did need some help moving that far at this point, since it was available anyway. But, he'd mostly asked to dissolve the last of Mac's resistance to heading toward civilization.

They both needed a medic, and probably more, sooner rather than later, and as long as they got inside one of those warm little houses, Jack still had seven rounds between weapons. He could keep things quiet and get a call in to Phoenix. Mac would hate walking out of here without Hans, but, damned if Jack could see a way to bring him in in the shape they were in.

And while Mac was usually the see-a-way-where-there-is-none guy, he was obviously not firing on all cylinders tonight … this morning … whenever the hell it was. The time piece part of Jack's watch had gotten drenched hours ago. Fortunately, the compass was still working. And they were headed where he'd thought they were.

After struggling through some underbrush and some drifts of snow, the men found themselves in a circle of light at the edge of a small porch on the side of an unassuming cottage. Jack had one hand on his weapon, now stored at the small of his back under his damp, half-frozen jacket, just in case, and waved Mac off into the shadows. He tried not to double back when he saw Mac start to sink down on the ground out of the corner of his eye.

As Jack was about to mount the stairs to knock, a small woman, seemingly frail, based on her slender, wrinkled appearance stepped out onto the porch and shook a little cylinder of cat treats. Jack could see the cartoon tabby on the label that let him know why she would brave the bitter wind.

She rattled the container harder and a little orange tabby, not very old, came running. Jack was about to duck into the shadows, pulling Mac with him, when she saw the movement of her cat out of the corner of her eye, and it happened to catch them as well.

" _Ach, je_!" she exclaimed.

Jack stiffened, but a very flushed and vulnerable looking Mac stepped into the circle of light, his miserable appearance causing the grandmotherly woman's eyes to both widen and soften immediately. Then Mac surprised his partner completely by speaking in flawless German. " _Es tut mir leid, wir brauchen ein wenig Hilfe._ "

"What did you just say, dude?" Jack whispered as the woman took them in with her startled, but very kind blue eyes.

"I just said we need help. And I sort of apologized for scaring her," Mac replied, keeping his eyes focused on the woman's face.

She looked down and her cat was tangling itself between Mac's feet, looking up at him with clear affection. She gave a little nod. "American?"

" _Ja_ ," Mac answered, then followed up with, "Yes. We are. Is my accent that terrible?"

She smiled. "Is not bad. Is American though. You bring Liebe in with you?" She nodded.

Mac smiled pleasantly and bent to scoop up the little almost kitten at his feet. " _Ja_ , of course."

" _Danke_ , young man."

Mac moved forward, both holding the cat and helping Jack toward the stairs.

The little old woman saw Jack's bandaged foot and the way he was struggling to bear his weight, not to mention how unwell the young blond holding her prized pet looked and she hopped down the steps with surprising agility and grace.

"Let me, _Junge_." She took the cat and Mac smiled gratefully.

He started helping Jack up the short steps to the porch. " _Danke_ ," he said with real gratitude. "This is Jack Dalton and I'm Angus MacGyver. We're tourists and we witnessed something bad happen. We have been trying to reach our tour group and we tried to contact the authorities, but …"

"But someone stopped you," she said, her shoulders stiffening a little. She opened the door to her home. "Come in, _Leiber S_."

Jack picked up a little from Mac and smiled at the woman. " _Danke_. Seriously, ma'am."

She helped Mac settle Jack on the couch near the door, sliding an ottoman under his swollen foot, and then pointed to the recliner across from it. "I'll go see if I can get you my phone. I let it run out of battery. I forget sometimes to charge it."

"If it's not trouble," Mac said with appropriate reserve.

"It is no trouble at all. I feel responsible for your sorrows," she said sadly as she turned to go into her kitchen to retrieve the cell phone her daughter-in-law insisted on buying her.

"Responsible?" Jack asked, frowning at Mac, who was resting his head on his hand and looking half asleep.

"My name is Sabine Vogt. Our little local trouble maker Manfred is my grandson, by unfortunate chance."

Mac's head snapped up, even as he winced at the movement.

"Don't worry, Angus," she offered, defaulting to first names without asking, like so many older people were inclined to do.

He didn't bother to correct her, just squinted up at her face.

"I will be happy to help you boys. Maybe you can finally stop what my son started when he abandoned the boy and his mother two decades ago."


	8. Chapter 8

Mac was often amazed by people. No matter where he went in the world, someone almost always surprised him with their bravery, or kindness, or tenacity. Sabine Vogt was no exception. Her grandson had been in trouble since he was a boy and had their whole little town largely under his thumb. But here she was ready to cross him to help a couple of strangers.

Mac was pretty sure she didn't buy the whole tourist story. But although she had given them a sort of knowing look, she hadn't called them out. What she had done was offer them the use of her spare bedroom and upstairs bathroom to get cleaned up, some of her late husband's clothes that she hadn't had the heart to give away, and her reasonably well stocked first aid kit.

He'd fully intended to bandage Jack's arm before he did anything else when Jack came out of the bathroom, but as it turned out he'd fallen asleep, sitting on the floor so as not to dirty any of the furniture. Jack had shaken him awake, ordered him to go have a hot shower with his 'don't even think about arguing with me, kid' expression, and had just glared at him until he closed the bathroom door.

Mac didn't know how long he was in the shower. He'd sort of zoned out. But it was awfully nice to be clean and somewhat on the way back to normal levels of warmth. He was pretty happy to be dressed in clean, soft clothes, even if they were several sizes too big, too. He also thought that he'd never been happier that blow driers existed.

When he exited the warm steamy bathroom he found Jack absent, so he headed downstairs, feeling about a thousand timers better than he had only an hour before. Between the cold medicine Sabine wouldn't take no for an answer about and the hot shower, he felt like maybe he could think straight, for now, anyway.

No one was in the living room, and part of him thought he should go find Jack, but a much bigger part thought the overstuffed couch looked awfully inviting. The go-find-Jack part of his brain didn't even put up a fight when he sank down into the cushions and wedged himself into the cozy corner nearest Sabine's woodstove.

He knew he must've started to doze off, because he jumped when their host spread a blanket over him. She smiled kindly at him, her eyes lost in a sea of good natured wrinkles for a second. "I am sorry, Angus. You looked cold."

He simply pulled the blanket tighter around himself and said, "Thank you." Then he added, sounding more hoarse now that he really cared for, "You can call me Mac."

"You are another boy who doesn't like the name he was given?"

He gave her a sheepish grin. "I just like my nickname better."

"My son didn't think much of his name either. So much so that he refused to carry on the family tradition of passing the name to his son. We had to settle for it being a middle name for Manfred."

Mac asked, more to be polite than anything, "What was his name that it was so terrible?"

"Hans," she replied. "Just like his father."

Mac was surprised into a short laugh that set him coughing, and thinking to himself, ' _Of course it was_ ', and then thinking that he couldn't wait to tell Jack they'd come a within a hairsbreadth of actually being hunted down by a Hans on this mission.

To cover his reaction, he just cleared his throat and offered, "Angus is alright, I guess. I've just been going by Mac for a long time."

Her eyes crinkled again, and she just gave him a little nod as she bustled back into her kitchen, only to reappear a few minutes later with a steaming mug that she held out to him. He was a little reluctant to take his hands out from under the warm blanket, but she raised an eyebrow at him in a distinctly parental display of disapproval, so he took it.

He couldn't smell a damned thing, but it looked like chicken broth and when he sipped it, he couldn't really taste it either, but he could tell it was pleasantly salty, something he probably needed after having such limited water for the last almost full day. " _Danke_ , _Frau_ Vogt."

"If I call you Mac, will you call me Sabine?" she asked with a smile. "Given your situation I feel like I want to call you friend and friends are not so formal with each other."

"Of course, Sabine," he answered. "Jack and I very much needed a friend tonight." He paused. "Speaking of," he said, suddenly remembering his impulse to track down his partner. "Have you seen Jack?"

She tipped her chin at his cup and he took another determined sip of the wonderfully warm liquid. "He is in my office having a conversation with someone who shouts a great deal."

Mac smirked. "That would be our boss. Matty. She gets a little loud when … well kind of all the time. Especially with Jack."

"Tourists, hmmm?" she said, making it sound both like a question and an accusation at the same time.

"Yeah, well, I guess that's a bit of an oversimplification. We're here for a combination of business and a little sightseeing. You know how it is."

She gave him a knowing little smile. "I believe I do."

She reached out her hand for his mug.

He emptied it and handed it to her.

"I will refill this for you."

"Oh, Sabine, that's alright. I don't think I could drink any m … I mean, yes, ma'am. Thanks." He finished after she gave him a Jack Dalton-worthy frown.

She was in the kitchen when Jack entered the living room from the other hallway. He was using aa well-worn polished cane. His ankle had been splinted and wrapped expertly and his arm was bandaged tightly. He grinned at Mac and limped over to the couch, sitting down next to him. "Hey, bud. How you feelin'?"

"Good," he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Better. How about you?"

"Surprisingly decent. Sabine is a retired nurse, so much better off than I thought we'd be at the moment."

Mac smiled back at his partner, starting to feel genuinely warm, and as a result quite sleepy. "That explains her ability to look supremely disapproving and bossy with one eyebrow twitch."

"She does have that down, that's for sure, bud. You ever met a nurse who didn't?"

Mac actually thought about. "Tim is terrible at it."

"Mostly because he's worried we'll disappear on him and get him in trouble with the boss. The Mistress of Darkness, herself."

Mac snickered. "Usually. Mistress of Darkness … I like that one. I'm sure Sully won't."

"You wouldn't tell her I called her that."

Mac shrugged. "I might, if it kept her off my case and got her onto yours." He laughed at the exaggerated look of betrayal Jack gave him.

He coughed into his elbow and squeezed his eyes shut at the thudding headache it caused. He snickered again when he immediately felt Jack's cool hand on his forehead.

"I'm good, Jack. A lot better than I was anyway."

"Sure you are, kid. You're not absolutely hotter than the surface of the sun right now and you in no way sound like your lungs are lined with Jello when you cough. You're great."

Sabine returned with another mug of hot broth, which he had to good sense to just reach out and take from her. "The picture of health, this one is."

Jack chuckled, and Mac rolled his eyes at both of them, settling more deeply into the couch cushions.

"How about you, young man? Did we get you patched up enough that you will be comfortable until your friends arrive?"

"You sure did, Sabine, and I thank you," Jack gave her his most charming smile.

"That is good. Considering you are very level headed about a criminal shooting you, I would hate for discomfort to be the thing that upsets you."

She was baiting him and there wasn't much point in not acknowledging it.

"Well, ma'am, you see, I used to be a soldier. In fact, Mac here served with me. So, while I'd like to tell you this is a first close encounter with a bullet for either of us, it just ain't."

"Ah," she said, sitting down in a delicate wingback chair off to the side of the couch. "Well, I'm sorry for your troubles." She looked like she felt a little badly for doubting what they had told her. "Were you able to reach the people you needed to contact to help you get home?"

Jack nodded. "Our boss is contacting the security firm our organization contracts with, as well as the authorities here."

"Do you suppose they will finally do something about my grandson and all the trouble he causes us here?"

"I surely hope so, ma'am."

Jack shifted, and winced at the pull on his wounded arm. Yep, that was getting infected, just no two ways about it. Damn it all to hell anyway.

"Will they come for you soon? You really need more than and old woman and her first aid kit. Both of you."

Jack nodded. He knew she was right. And he wanted to be home by Christmas Eve more than anything. Odds weren't looking great that he would be spending it anywhere other than Phoenix Medical as things were going. But maybe if he got some antibiotics soon, he'd at least make it in time for Bozer's weird Christmas pastrami.

"They should be able to get here to the airfield within an hour … An hour of the storm clearing that is. She figured it might be morning." Jack squinted like he really didn't like to ask. "Would it be too much of an imposition for us to wait here for them to send a car?"

She smiled a very parental smile at him. "It is no imposition at all. Besides, your friend clearly needs to rest. More running through the woods would not be so good for him, I think."

She nodded in Mac's direction and Jack turned his head.

Mac was out cold, mouth hanging open slightly, blond hair hanging down his forehead. His mug was resting on his lap, still loosely held in one hand. Liebe was sitting on Mac's leg, a little ball of orange fluff, his head stuck deeply in the mug and they could hear him lapping at the broth.

She watched Jack's expression go from one of soft amusement back to a concern that caused a hard line across his forehead. She got up to collect the mug and patted Jack on the shoulder.

"Help is on the way. Yes? He will be fine, young man. You both will be."

Jack fervently hoped she was right. His expression said so.

She smiled and patted him again with her free hand, before turning to go into the kitchen. "Don't look so worried, Jack Dalton. Don't you believe in Christmas miracles?"

Jack felt himself smile, almost against his will. "We've gotten a few, I'm not gonna lie."

"Then you will again."


	9. Chapter 9

Mac shifted slightly in his sleep and his head dropped toward his chest. His neck was stiff, and the movement twinged enough that it woke him, but not so much that it jolted him awake. It was more he realized he wasn't asleep anymore and that he was a little uncomfortable. He opened his eyes slowly.

The lights were dimmed, and it was still dark beyond the curtained windows. He was still tucked into the corner of the overstuffed couch, nearest Sabine's wood stove. Jack was sitting next to him and had one hand on his arm, shaking it gently. Mac wondered if Jack was just waking him because he was doing his worry-wart hovering thing.

"Hey, bud," Jack said softly, an apology in his voice.

"Hey," Mac croaked. He could tell there was no point in clearing his throat this time. It wasn't going to improve how he sounded. "What time is it?"

Jack didn't even glance at the clock. "Just about four thirty, buddy, but …"

"I slept that long?"

Actually, Mac had no idea what time it was when he went to sleep on the couch, but he thought maybe it had been around midnight or so. He hadn't meant to do more than close his eyes for a minute, but clearly his body had other ideas.

Jack shrugged. "You had a little nap, pal. And I hate to wake you now, but we've got a problem."

Mac scrubbed his hands over his face, and then he pushed himself upright, so he was sitting rather than sinking. He was caught off guard by a yawn, which of course just got him coughing again. He covered his face with both hands and fought to get it under control. He took his hands away from his face after a minute, but kept his eyes squeezed shut, hoping to will his headache into backing off.

Jack was pressing a cup of something warm into his hands. He was pleased to notice that he could taste the contents of the cup this time and it was heavily honeyed tea. Then Jack handed him more of the cold tablets from Sabine's medicine cabinet and he didn't even argue, just swallowed them with the soothing liquid.

"Thanks," he said, sounding better after the tea. "What's our problem?"

"Well, Phoenix is still a couple hours out."

Mac didn't like how Jack wasn't just saying flat out what was up. "And?" he prompted.

Jack had the momentary thought that Mac was doing better, no matter how awful he sounded. He was a little impatient and that meant he felt a little more like himself. He figured he better just fill him in quick anyway.

"Well, I dozed off, too, about an hour ago, but Sabine came and woke me up a little bit ago. I hadn't even got to dreamin' yet …"

He paused, and Mac just raised his eyebrows as if to prompt him without actually having to open his mouth.

"Good old Hans has been trying to call Grandma. He's even texted a couple of times." Mac frowned. "Which she usually means he's gonna stop by and get things out of her shed, which he keeps all locked up. She's worried we'll still be here when he does. Sun up isn't for a while yet and she doesn't expect him before it's light, but ya never know and …"

"Jack, this is perfect."

Mac started to disentangle himself from the blanket Sabine had wrapped him in earlier.

"I've got seven bullets, Mac. Explain how anything about this is good, say nothing about perfect."

Mac pushed himself forward on the couch and started to rise, only to have to sit back down as his temples thudded painfully and the room tilted at crazy angles for a moment.

"Whoa, whoa there, kid. Slow down. You okay?"

Jack's hand was on his elbow, whether to offer support or keep him from getting back up, Mac wasn't sure. He didn't shake his partner off. That would just piss Jack off and probably make him double down on the helicopter bit. "I'm good. Got up too fast."

"So, you were saying our situation is perfect?"

Mac's mouth lifted at one corner in a fond half-smile. Helicopter mode wasn't necessarily imminent if he was being sarcastic.

"We came here to get Vogt and break up his little crime syndicate. Which I think our lovely hostess would sincerely appreciate. And we lost him. If he just shows up at Grandma's hoping to pick up whatever is in that shed and instead opens the door and we jump him …" Jack looked like he wanted to interrupt but he didn't do it. "Well, we still get what we came for and Sabine and her neighbors get their town back."

Mac had a point. But Jack didn't care for it. "Mac, I love the idea, you know I do, bud, but, we ain't exactly in the best shape for …"

Mac's expression became a good-natured challenge. "You telling me you need to be on your feet to get off a shot now, Dalton? Old age finally catching up to your, and I quote, 'mutant-level sniper ability'?"

Jack chuckled. "I could still kick Wolverine's ass, if that's what you're askin'."

"Wolverine is one of the good guys, Jack," Mac said shaking his head.

"You sure? Cuz, I've seen all those movies and he just kinda seems like a real ornery …"

"So now ornery is a disqualifier from the good guy camp? I better let Matty know she should draft your walking papers, pal."

"Alright, man, I guess you got a point, but seriously … What are you thinkin' we should do?"

Sabine came into the room then, with fresh steaming cups of what Mac could now smell was more chicken broth. He could smell! Oh, man, he'd missed that. Maybe not while they were covered with Nazi-tunnel-swamp-water, but since they'd gotten here for sure.

He allowed her to take his empty tea cup and took the mug of broth gratefully. Instead of sipping it, he downed it quickly. "Sabine, do you have a key to the shed you think your grandson is coming to open?"

She shook her head, her face puckering with her regret. "I am sorry, but no. And I don't know how to get into his security system either." She sat down in her chair, her expression eloquent of distress.

Mac's eyebrows went up. "Security system, huh?" She nodded. "Must be something pretty important in there is he's got a security system on it this far off the beaten path."

"I suppose so," she nodded. "I have never gotten close since he took it over. He … He has threatened me."

Jack's eyes flashed. This sweet woman, who was all kinds of lovely, but had plenty of steel in her spine, too, reminded him of his Nana, hell of his Mama, too. What kind of miserable good-for nothin' low life threatened a little old lady over shit that would fit in a shed … which, by the way, said woman owned, by the way, Hans ….

He stopped the tirade going off in his head. If he was going to Hulk out, as Mac liked to call it, better to do it when he had this punk in his sights. "Well, ma'am, we will do out best to make sure that doesn't happen again."

She nodded, a pained expression deepening the many lines of her face. Her eyes filled, and she covered her face with her hands, beginning to cry quietly. Mac and Jack exchanged a look. Jack looked so upset for her he appeared near tears himself.

Mac got to his feet, much more successfully this time, now that he was fully away and sat down on the low coffee table in front of her. "Sabine, we're so sorry. We brought trouble right to your door. And we'll make it right, I promise," Mac offered in a quiet, reassuring voice.

She shook her head behind her hands and replied with a muffled. "No, my house brought trouble to you. Manfred and his mother lived with us for years after my son left. Not only was my own son nothing of a father, but I had a chance to raise a good boy and instead I raised a monster."

"Hey, now, you don't go takin' his nonsense on yourself like that," Jack said, his voice almost husky with emotion. He new what a trial he'd been as a young man to everyone involved with raising him and he thought of his own family crying like this over his wild (albeit significantly less criminal and more the 'she might be pregnant' or 'Dad, about the car' days sort of) days.

"I am responsible for his behavior," she insisted.

"No," Mac said in his deep resonant voice, which he was pleased to hear sounded almost completely normal now that he'd been awake a bit. "He's a grown man. He's responsible for his own behavior."

"But his past …"

"Sabine," Mac said, reaching out and taking her wrists gently and lowering her hands away from her face. She did meet his eye, but it was a struggle for her. "If your past decided who you were completely … I don't know what I'd be." She frowned at him, wanting to take comfort, but fearing it would be hollow. "My mom died when I was still practically a toddler and my dad … he's been out of my life for so long, sometimes I can't make myself remember his face or the sound of his voice. My father left me, too."

"When he was ten," Jack grumbled.

Mac nodded. "But that doesn't mean he was a bad man … just … well, just that he was a man, capable of making mistakes, just like the rest of us. And my Granddad tried so hard to raise my right, but I was always getting into trouble – crashing go-carts, getting all busted up playing, using everything in the kitchen cupboards for science experiments …"

"All innocent games, Angus," she said softly, forgetting she'd promised to call him Mac.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But all my innocent games destroyed my school's football field. Like destroyed. They haven't rebuilt it. Because they sort of couldn't."

"Really?" she almost smiled.

"And when I finally got my head on straight it was by joining the Army. And that didn't always go exactly to plan either."

"What is it you do now? Really?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"We help people," he replied.

She nodded, thoughtful. "Thank you. I appreciate you help."

The way she said it told them she meant for more than just trying to make things right tonight. She paused for a long moment before going on.

"Do you think there is any help for Manfred?"

Jack shook his head and replied before Mac could stop him. "He's in awful deep, ma'am. But I've seen plenty of guys turn it around after I landed 'em in prison."

She sucked in her breath, but shrugged her shoulders after sitting with it for a minute. "Perhaps that will be so for him as well."

Mac gave her his best reassuring smile. "We'll do what we can, Sabine."

She gave them both a small, slightly watery smile. "And I will continue to help you." She looked at Jack. "You mentioned only having a few bullets left in your weapon, Jack." His eyes widened with shock. "I am sorry. I did not mean to overhear you … That is a lie, I was listening, but you understand … If I am helping you over protecting my grandson, I needed to know you were … what is it you say in America … on the up and up."

"Close enough," Jack said, looking wary.

"I believe I can help with that," she replied.

"My husband was a restorer of fire arms, mostly for private collectors. So we had special permits to keep guns in our home that would not normally be afforded German citizens. But when he passed, no one ever came to take the equipment or his stock away. He also had ammunition for test firing."

Jack started to get to his feet, but Mac waved him off and stood himself, helping Sabine up in the bargain. "So, Sabine, can you show me his work room? I know what Jack's comfortable with and I know you don't want him hobbling around on that injured ankle any more than I do."

"Of course," she agreed and started leading Mac out of the room and down the narrow hallway.

Mac glanced over his shoulder at Jack as he followed and Jack threw him a 'did you just helicopter parent me' glare to which Mac replied with a smirk. The he turned his attention to their hostess. "Hey Sabine, weird question."

" _Ja?_ " she prompted.

"You wouldn't happen to have any stump remover, would you?"

" _Ja_ , I do, I think, in the basement. Why?"

"I've got an idea."


	10. Chapter 10

Jack could hear the pair coming back well before he saw them in the doorway. Mac had done okay for a few minutes while sipping hot beverages, but he'd been hacking and coughing his way through the house for the last quarter hour. Jack was tempted to gimp his way to wherever they were and order him back onto the couch.

He didn't think that would go over very well with his partner, or with Sabine. And he figured his new favorite nurse … and yeah, she was one he actually liked a lot (maybe because she was retired, he thought) … would order Mac back under his blanket herself if she thought he really wasn't alright.

He didn't know what they were going to do if the grandson showed up with a whole gang of his goons, but he supposed they'd improvise like they always did. It had gotten them this far. When Sabine and Mac returned, Jack was pleased with the small haul of weapons as well as the bags of ammo, which Mac set down carefully beside him on the couch.

Mac made sure he had Jack's attention.

"Hey, I'm gonna go get a look at the shed and see what the security system and layout looks like. Be back in five."

"Like hell you will."

Jack got to his feet, wincing as he put some weight on the ankle, but using the cane to mitigate the problem it caused with his balance.

"Jack, there's no reason for you to limp out there while I just go get a look at things and …"

"There is if our guy shows up while you're still gettin' the lay of the land, kid. And my week has already sucked enough without it endin' with a bullet in your back, ya hear?"

"Don't you need to check these guns over and get them loaded?"

"Not as much as I need to watch your back in the moment, brother."

"Jack, for once, could you just …"

"Both of you sit," Sabine said in a tone that didn't allow for the mistake that it was a suggestion.

Both men turned to face her. And both spoke at the same time, in near perfect contradiction of each other's words. "Sabine, I'm fine to run outside for five minutes on my own." "Sabine, I'm he's in no kinda shape to go runnin' around outside all on his own.

"Oh, I am sorry," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I have misspoken. Sit the hell down!" She didn't raise her voice, but the sentence coming out of that sweet old lady's mouth in that particular tone, was shocking enough that they both sank down on the nearest seat, Jack on the couch behind him, and Mac in the nearby chair so as not to disturb the new stockpile of functioning weapons.

"You," she pointed severely at Mac. "Are sick. I suspect you have pneumonia."

She turned her fierce wrinkled gaze at Jack.

"You have the starting of an infection in that graze wound. And a broken ankle … and it is not badly broken, but you will damage yourself out of a job if you keep walking on it so much. And don't try to tell me you do some quiet office job. A man your age … in the shape you are in … those callouses on your gun hand … the fact that you are in a foreign country carrying a weapon … Helping people, indeed."

Jack's eyes went wide, and he glanced at Mac who was wearing a similar expression. "Hey, now," Jack started.

"Young man, I was a military nurse. You will do better to save your strength for who and what ever may knock on my door soon." She turned back to Mac. "I understand both of you will have to go out there at some point. The closer you are to your people arriving and getting you."

Mac gave a spare headshake, but looked up into her eyes, not rising, but making it clear he intended to. "Sabine, I need to get a look at that shed."

She nodded. "And so you will. I will take my phone and photograph everything and bring it back to you."

"Sabine … It's snowing like the end of the world out there," Mac said, squinting. He wouldn't add, 'And you're a little old lady and I can't let you do that', but he really sort of wanted to.

"I mentioned that I can hear the rasp in your breath from here, yes? No? Well, I will mention it now. I am certain it is at least bronchitis, Angus. I may be old, I may even have moments where I am frail. But I am not so retired that I am going to let sick and injured men hurt themselves playing hero when that is not what the situation calls for."

Mac swallowed, chastened. So did Jack, for that matter.

"Jack Dalton will sit," she said with appropriate emphasis. "And clean and load these weapons."

Jack gave her a half smile and nodded. He knew when he was beat.

"Angus MacGyver, you will drink the broth that I left on the stove for you while I go take those pictures. While you are at it, I left the stump remover on the counter. The powdered sugar is in the cupboard to the left."

Mac couldn't help the half smile that quirked up his lips. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, the humor bright in his voice. He cleared his throat. "I forget that nurses know a lot of chemistry, too sometimes."

"And Germans who lived through lean times, which my childhood very much was, know how to make the best of what we have." She smiled at him then, her expression no longer the stern no-nonsense once she had been wearing.

Mac nodded. "Fair enough." He got up out of the chair to head into the kitchen. "Any chance you have drain cleaner, too?"

"Under the kitchen sink," she replied, moving to get her coat and go get her phone off its charger. "Anything else?" she smiled.

"No, but thank you," Mac answered, heading in the opposite direction. "I already saw your recycling containers. I think I'm good … Wait … Candles?"

"Next to the dishwasher … I will be back in five minutes."

She left out her side door. Jack called at Mac's back, "You really just gonna go to the kitchen and play around with chemicals instead of going out there and getting a look at that shed yourself?"

Mac turned. "You really gonna just sit there cleaning those guns?"

"I'm not gonna argue with her … It's her house."

"Yeah, and she's a little scary when she's annoyed, am I right?"

"She's not scary," Jack said half grinning.

"Sure. And neither is Sully. Who you are totally looking forward to spending some quality time with." The sarcasm was not even a little subtle. Mac laughed at Jack's expression, then he headed for the kitchen, burying a cough in the crook of his arm.

Kid wasn't wrong. Jack couldn't help an eloquent sigh as he started going through the weapons in order of his priority.

"Ah, man. Merry freaking Christmas."


	11. Chapter 11

It didn't take Mac long to set up what he needed in the kitchen. He was glad because the headache and fever were coming back full force even through the cold medicine he'd taken. The sooner this was over, the better, for all their sakes, he thought.

When he opened the drawer to see how many candles he had at his disposal, he grinned, despite his pounding temples. Then he glanced around the kitchen. Jackpot! He slid the duct tape he'd discovered over his hand and around his wrist to free up his hands for carrying and grabbed what he wanted from the recycling bin. Then he made a quick pit stop in the bathroom for a few more supplies and headed into the living room.

Jack was chambering a round in a fairly new semi-automatic that he looked very comfortable holding. He looked up when Mac entered, most notably because Mac was usually pretty light on his feet and this very early morning (so early it wasn't even starting to grey outside yet, he was clomping around like a linebacker.

Like his partner, Jack couldn't wait for this to be over with. He was trying to keep from helicoptering too much and pissing the kid off, but damn, he looked awful and clearly felt worse. And, Jack had to admit, this wasn't his own best day ever either. "Whatcha grinnin' about, kid?"

Mac held up what he'd scored between the kitchen and bathroom. Some towels and washcloths, carboard, and a roll of duct tape. "I was worried about you needing to move around too much, but I know you're going to need to. So … I'm gonna make you a boot!"

Jack nodded, with a grin of his own. "Good thinking, bud."

Mac knelt down in front of Jack and helped him ease his swollen foot and ankle down off the stool where he'd been resting it, then started wrapping the linens around it to form a cushion. A few pieces of cardboard and strips of duct tape later, and Jack could stand, even walk without directly impacting his bad ankle.

"This works great, Mac. Thanks … Is that sugar burning that I smell?"

"Crap!" Mac hopped up and practically sprinted back to the kitchen. The Mac's voice called back, "Saved it! Thanks, Jack!"

Sabine came back in then, and gave Jack a disapproving frown when she saw him on his feet, which transformed into a bright smile when she saw the why and how. "He is something, _ja_?"

Jack grinned as he took another almost pain-free step toward her, holding out his hand for her phone. "He sure is, Sabine."

She handed him the device and went to hang up her coat. Jack swiped through the pictures. System didn't look particularly complicated … in fact … "Hey, Mac!" he called.

"Yeah … Um … I'd kind of in the middle of …"

"I'll come to you, bud." Jack made his slightly limping, but infinitely more comfortable way into Sabine's kitchen and he heard the old woman following him as she returned from her foyer.

They found Mac pouring something into toilet paper rolls and stuffing the pan he had them on into the refrigerator. When he turned back to them, Sabine and Jack shared a look. He was flush-faced again and looked ready to crawl under her table and take a nap. Jack had to bite his lip to keep quiet about it, and Sabine knew, even on short acquaintance that it was better left unmentioned. Besides, her grandson had left this fine young man with little choice but to try to keep going.

Jack held out the phone to his partner. "Check this out, kid."

Mac took it and peered at the pictures. "That son of a bitch!" he snapped. "I'm so sorry, Sabine," he immediately apologized for his language.

She smiled at him then, and it was both sly and wise. "No apology necessary, Angus. At the moment I feel like you give him too much credit."

Mac chuckled, which turned into a cough. She raised an eyebrow at him and went over to the stove, peered into the pot she'd left simmering, frowned, and poured him another mug of broth. "Did you think I left this here as a suggestion, young man?"

He took the mug from her. "Sorry. I got busy. I do that sometimes."

"Get so busy that you don't take care of your own needs?"

"When he says sometimes, he means always, Sabine," Jack supplied, to which Mac responded with an eyeroll, but he did down the cup of broth instead of saying anything.

"The shed isn't actually hooked up," he said finally, showing her what Jack had noticed. "You don't get much company out here, do you?"

"My neighbors are all as old as I am, the close ones anyway," she replied. The shed is too far for most of them to bother about. Besides, everyone knows Manfred has taken over its use. Even Walter, who could and would be happy to go out there if I had need of him, doesn't … Because Manfred has made it clear that he takes care of my property … Walter has believed it was because he is a good man, helping out his grandmother."

"Walter?" Jack asked with a small smile.

Her cheeks colored. "An old friend of mine … and my husband." Her cheeks colored a bit. "He has been a great comfort since Hans passed on."

Jack reached out, took her hand and patted it. "That's real nice Sabine. Everyone needs a friend when things are lonely, don't they?"

Mac smiled, too. Then he looked thoughtful. "I know it's awfully early Sabine, but do you think Walter would maybe have you over for coffee or something if you called? I don't want to chase you out of your own home … but …"

"I have already called him," she replied, looking nervous. "I asked him to come over …" Both men's eyes widened with something like panic and maybe a little bit of betrayal, then she finished her thought. "I told him everything about Manfred. He wants to help."

Jack shared a look with Mac, who gave a short nod, before he opened the fridge to check on his creation. "Alright, Sabine. That sounds good. Maybe he can help you hunker down in here while we take care of business outside. You think?"

She smiled. "If that is what you need from us, then _ja_ , of course."

Mac was pulling the pan out of the fridge and also trying to pick up water jugs full of some liquid, as well as a roll of aluminum foil, a stack of candles, and the roll of duct tape he'd brought back out here with him.

"Whoa, bud, lemme help with that," Jack said, stepping in. "I've got it, Jack," he protested, took in Jack's and Sabine's expressions and thought better of it. "Okay. Thanks. I need to get these outside and place them around the property before we have company."

"You know I love your not-quite-a-plan plans, kid, but what's that gonna do? Are these like bombs or something?"

"No. But, they are pretty much the cavalry arriving early." He grinned at the look on Jack's face. "Or at least that's what Manfred is going to think. I mean, if it works, anyway."

"Alright, kid. Lead the way." Jack gestured to the door.

"Not without jackets! Either of you!" Sabine said.

She was a woman used to giving orders for sure, both men thought. She strode out of the room with the gait of a much younger woman and came back holding two almost identical heavy coats. Jack was sure Mac couldn't smell a damned thing, but he thought they smelled vaguely of horses, even though they looked a little dusty.

"These belonged to Hans. He wore them hunting. They will keep you warm out there. I am already responsible for you being in danger … And don't try to convince me otherwise … I will not be responsible for you both freezing to death, too."

They thanked her, put down their loads, and put on the jackets (which Jack was happy to note had plenty of large pockets where he could stash firearms – and stash them he did) before heading out in the snow. As they worked quickly placing things around the yard, Mac called out through the now-grey light, "How you doing, pal?"

"The boot's getting' a little soggy on the outside, but it feels just fine, kid."

"Good. I'm done. Gonna go get into that shed and see what it is Manfred is coming after."

"Be right behind ya, kid." Jack finished what he was doing by the tree line and headed toward the large shed at the back of the property.

He heard Mac's slightly raspy voice cut through the quiet morning air, muffled only by the softly falling snow. "That bastard."

"What is it, kid?" Jack asked as he joined him in the doorway, and his own question was answered by his eyes before Mac could say anything.

Inside the shed, lining the front walls were bails of plastic wrapped white stuff, a lot of it. So, it was safe to conclude Manfred had been stashing drugs on his grandmother's property, probably while he waited to fly them out of the little airfield. They had known he was dealing them, but where he was getting them and keeping them had been a question.

Behind those, forming a hallway of sorts that led to the back of the shed were crates. One of them nearest the door had been left open and neither Mac nor Jack needed to tell them that what was sticking out was a Kalashnikov rifle. So, the son of a bitch was into arms dealing as well, just as they had suspected, but lacked substantiated proof of before now.

Most disturbing, to both men, was the small cell at the back of the shed, stacked with three bunks, one on top of the other on three sides, with a bucket next to the cell door for obvious reasons, and cuffs hanging from the bars, waiting.

They had believed that Manfred Vogt was running a prostitution operation, and that they were not necessarily willing (as willing as anyone ever really was to get into that life) participants, but now … It wasn't just an accusation. They had proof.

"Oh, Sabine," Jack almost whispered. Both of them were suddenly picturing the look on her face when she realized what he had been doing out here. They knew she had been beating herself up for not calling the authorities, but that she had been afraid. And she'd made no bones about it, she judged herself very harshly for that fear.

"We're gonna make it right, Jack," Mac said.

"Damn right," Jack replied.

"What do we do next?"

"When Vogt gets here we run around and light the fuses on those roles, light the candles on the bottles, and tip the foil into those. Gotta get the top back on fast."

"What for?"

"Those are going to produce small hydrogen explosions. Nice loud pop, some fire. Should look like muzzle flash through the snow … I hope. The other ones are gonna produce a lot of smoke we can move in and when they burn down far enough, there's blasting caps inside that the homemade rocket fuel I've got in there should set off. It's gonna sound like the end of the world out there pretty fast."

"That oughta put him off his game enough for me to get the drop on 'im."

"Yeah, I hope so," Mac agreed, leaning against the door frame for a minute.

"You been all worried about my ankle and my arm, kid, but for real, how you holdin' up?"

"I want to sleep for a week," he admitted. "But we can get this done. Then, I'll worry about that."

Jack patted him on the shoulder. It wasn't like either of them had a lot of choice. "You think we can do anything to booby trap this shed. Maybe avoid having to do the song and dance outside?"

Mac looked around then puffed out a sigh. "I thought about it, but it's already pretty tight in here. Maybe if we had some real time …"

"Um, I think we just ran out of that, bud."

Mac looked at him.

"Truck's pulling in the driveway, and I make …" Jack squinted with his sniper's eyes, "Four guys in the cab."

It was a moving truck. Even blurry eyed with fever Mac could tell that much. Suddenly he got an idea. "Jack, can you get those things all lit up and drive them this way on your own?"

"I'm not plannin' on leavin' 'em standing if I can help it kid, but I can buy you a minute or two. Something percolatin' in that ginormous brain of yours?"

"Maybe. And it'll be better if we can take Vogt alive and find out if there's anyone up the chain on this."

Jack gave him a nod. "Alright. I'll do my best." He gave Mac a hard look. "You keep your head down."

Mac grinned, "You got it, Porkchop."

"Hey! I've been doin' a real good job not helicopter parenting you and …"

"Go get the bad guys, big guy."

Jack smirked and shook his head. Kid needed a sniffling-sneezing-coughing-aching-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up medicine. And it was up to Jack to make sure he had the back up he needed so he could get it.

That was better motivation than orders any day of the damned week. He headed back into the snow, even as he could hear the group of men headed there way, and here Mac pulling the door closed behind him and knocking something other inside.


	12. Chapter 12

Despite the throbbing ankle, Jack knew he needed to move fast. The snow blowing around as it fell from the sky might have been unpleasant as it caught in his collar and melted down his neck, but it provided a hell of a cover to go set off the devices Mac had pulled together.

As he ran around the yard in the cold, wet, of the greying early morning, he realized the boot Mac had made for him was getting pretty damned soggy. All that was holding it together was the excessive amounts of duct tape Mac used. Still, wet and cold or not, it cushioned his painful steps as he tipped aluminum foil into milk jugs and tightened caps, lit candles and fuses, and got himself into position to take on the four or five guys headed their way.

While Jack worked outside, Mac scrambled around the interior of the shed, trying to pull together something to knock Vogt on his ass without killing him. He knew he needed some sort of advantage because he didn't think his usual hand to hand skills were going to do him much good. He felt absolutely miserable again; his head was vaguely swimmy and he was cold and dizzy. High fevers were historically not awesome things to have in a fight.

He headed back toward the small cell in the back of the large shed, pulling down crates and boxes across the path as he went. Some of them broke open, exactly as he'd hoped for. Vogt or whoever else managed to make it past Jack, if any of them did, would have a tough time getting back to where he planned to conceal himself. And they'd probably be winded by the time they got there. Excellent.

He really hoped Jack kept to the plan and tried to chase Vogt in this direction instead of just shooting him. Now, Mac wasn't normally over-inclined to think of people as deserving of a bullet, but after spending the last quarter of a day with the man's sweet (okay, though as nails and a force to be reckoned with, but sweet nevertheless) grandmother, he kind of wanted a bullet in the guy. Maybe somewhere painful, like the back of the knee or near the brachial plexus.

But he also knew that an operation dealing in human trafficking, Russian firearms, and drugs was unlikely to be run by one guy from a smallish town in eastern Germany all by himself. He was probably a mid-level flunky in a much larger operation, and capturing him made a lot more sense in terms of putting an end to the crap the guy was part of perpetrating than just taking him out.

Mac looked around the cell, trying to remember what he'd thought of before Jack had obliged and left him here. It had been a pretty good idea, he remembered that much, but damned if his stuffy, throbbing head, and the return of body-wracking coughing fits, wasn't making it increasingly difficult to keep his shit together.

He steadied himself against the cold metal of the bunk frame for a second. Then, he smiled, nodding his head at the suddenly remembered plan. He took out his pocket knife and started unscrewing the top frame from the rest of the bunk set.

Vogt and his men, Jack counted four goons, but he would swear he heard a fifth voice in addition to the boss, were making rapid progress toward the shed. He was doing his best to keep cover and aim and he was thinking he might have to squeeze off a shot before he really wanted to and reveal his location just to keep them from getting to Mac before he could get whatever trap he'd developed in that ginormous brain up and ready.

Then, in timing so perfect Jack didn't think he could've managed to set it off better with a trigger, once of Mac's drain cleaner explosives went off. The pop of the jog exploding was very reminiscent of a mid-caliber revolver and the whooshing burst of flame from the candle as the trapped gas was released was a decent approximation of a muzzle flash, at least through the swirling snow.

Jack was gratified to see the men, dropping down and firing in the direction of their dummy back up. Then they started fanning out over the property, using the small trees at intervals around it as some semblance of cover. Jack smiled when he realized that they were all leaving their backs open to him. All except Vogt who was hugging the hedge line and heading toward the shed.

The other devices Mac had set up for Jack to trigger started going off in pretty quick succession and the smoke started pouring from the homemade smoke bombs he'd made, too. Jack, didn't even hesitate now. He just stepped out from behind his cover and tagged the four guys he could see moving toward the decoys.

Their grunts and shouts of pain were pretty damned gratifying, given what they'd helped Vogt do with his grandmother's property. One of them flipped over on his back in spite of the hip level wound Jack managed to inflict and leveled the barrel of his own weapon at Jack. Jack picked him off, with an eyeroll. One less lackey to interrogate, he thought to himself.

He's lost sight of Vogt though. Damn it. He was supposed to use zip ties to secure the guys he'd taken out before heading to the shed, but he was more concerned with getting eyes back on the boss before the guy caught up to Mac.

He started heading toward the shed when a couple of things happened.

He saw lights from the direction of the driveway and heard what sounded like a number of people calling out to each other. He had a second to hope like hell it was their backup finally arrived from Phoenix and not more of Vogt's crew.

He heard a crash and a gunshot and a sharp cry of pain from the direction of the shed that set his limp to a hurried one.

He was about half way there when he was tackled to the ground by a blurry figure in black. Son of a bitch. There was a fifth guy. He wrestled with the figure, who was strong as an ox and wiry as a spider monkey in Jack's mind. The man grabbed Jack's arms trying to pin him and Jack bellowed in pain as the bandage under his coat scraped the bullet graze that he'd almost managed to forget about.

After several confusing, painful minutes of the two of them jockeying for an advantage and raining blows on each other, Jack finally had a hand free and he grabbed a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket. One shot. Center mass. He heaved the man's body off him.

Jack struggled to his feet, the carboard and towel boot Mac had made him now soggy to the point of useless. It was slowing him down. He took a moment to pull the knife out of his belt and cut it free. Goddamn it the snow was cold on his bare, wet foot and his ankle felt like it was made from broken glass, but he could move quickly again. Or reasonably quickly anyway.

Then, as flashlight beams started to diffuse through the snow and other voices called out, one voice cut through the rest. "Jack!"

It was hoarse. It was distressed. And it was unmistakably Mac.

Broken ankle forgotten, Jack broke into a run.


	13. Chapter 13

As Mac worked, he sighed a couple of times at how slow and stupid his fingers felt. He'd only ever really had the flu a couple of times, but this sure felt like that. He felt kind of like he was moving through refrigerated honey. He shivered again and dropped his knife.

He felt like lightning struck him in the temple when he bent to get it and the deep gasping breath it caused got him coughing again. And that was through the handful of over-the-counter meds Sabine and Jack had made sure he'd taken. Cold meds weren't going to cut it at this point he supposed. A long weekend in bed. Maybe with a heating pad. That might be a start.

He'd thought he was feeling quite a bit better when he was warm and dry inside, essentially napping in a chair. But it was deceiving. Even the little he'd exerted himself prepping their imaginary back up army had felt like a lot and he realized, in retrospect, Sabine had done a lot of it. He didn't need any more bad guys to do it for him. His ass was pretty much already kicked, much as it pained him to admit it.

He wrestled the mattress off the top bunk and then used a gunstock as a hammer to loosen the bunk itself. He leaned against the bars for a moment. Jesus, he was running out of steam fast. Not that he had much choice, but he was starting to realize that there was only so long determination was going to keep him on his feet.

He managed to use the frame and the springs, along with the mattress, and his belt and shoes laces to rig up something that resembled a very crude catapult. He thought maybe if he could hit anyone who came through the door with that first, he could gain enough of an advantage to get them zip tied and into custody without too much trouble. And he wondered if any one was going to make it that far.

Jack was pretty pissed about their time under ground, not to mention what this guy had been doing to his grandmother for a while, so if he had a chance, Mac thought his partner might just tag the guy. And Mac could here gunfire, could hear the muted explosions of his little homemade devices, the muffled shouts of men in the heat of battle.

Preparing for company still seemed like the best course of action. Mac stood up from where he'd just finished tying some things off on his improvised weapon of sorts and once again grabbed the bars to steady himself. Jack was right. He should have just called in.

 _Wait, did I just think that? I must be dying_ , he thought and then gave a little snort of laughter.

He turned off the flashlight he'd been using, drew back the springs with the pulley he had fashioned out of some tubing and packing materials, and waited, stifling a cough. After only a minute, the tension of keeping the weapon drawn back was making his fever-weakened arms and shoulders shake. Fortunately, he didn't have much longer to wait.

Even in the dark, Mac could see that the figure forcing the door open was a large man. Manfred Vogt. He was a big guy. It had taken both him and Jack to get the man in cuffs the first time. " _Was zur Hölle_ ," the man rumbled under his breath in his surprisingly high a breathy voice that Mac recognized, confirming his certainty that it was Vogt.

A cell phone was fished out of a pocket, by the sounds and a flashlight turned on. Vogt started picking his way through the now messy shed toward the back. Mac assumed the guy would head back here just to see if he could find whoever caused the mess, but the dude seemed particularly determined, quickly picking his way over the debris Mac had scattered to slow him down. Mac wondered what else might be hidden back here, because the cell itself was empty.

Mac was doing his best to avoid being caught by the beam of the flashlight, but after a few minutes of the light dancing around as Vogt tried not to fall over anything, it didn't matter. Mac coughed again, the heavy wet sound of a guy in serious need of some antibiotics. And Vogt drew his gun.

The only advantage that came from the cough was that as Vogt tried to hold both the flashlight and his weapon, the light dropped into the debris. At least they were both in the dark. Then Vogt started talking.

"Where are you, _Sohn einer Hündin_?" He took a few steps, and Mac could hear the sawdust from the crates under the large man's shoes now. He was close. "Your friend is no longer around to protect you, _ja_? My men saw to that."

Mac had a brief moment of panic at that statement, but then he heard a shouted obscenity of the variety Jack saved for gunfights. He half smiled to himself. Jack was alright.

Probably.

He was alive anyway.

"You are back here somewhere, _ja_? I heard you."

Another paused and a few more steps. Then Vogt cursed again, quieter this time, but one that was much more vulgar. Good. That meant he was probably pissed off and emotional meant distracted. Mac shifted slightly preparing to release the tether on his sort-of-catapult. Vogt heard it and swore.

The barked unintelligible curse startled Mac with its closeness but he had enough of hit wits about him, fever and all, to trigger the release at the right moment. Unfortunately, one of the springs caught the oversized jacket he was wearing, and he got pulled forward, almost off his feet. It reduced the impact of the frame and mattress hitting Vogt, but it still knocked the top-heavy man off his feet.

Enough light was coming in the open doorway from the earliest rays of dawn that Mac could see the man's hulking shape sprawled over one of the overturned crates and under the bed he'd weaponized. Righting himself, coughing into his sleeve, glad this was all almost over, Mac fished the zip ties out of his jacket and moved toward his about-to-be recaptured prisoner.

Feeling like his limbs were almost insurmountably heavy at this stage of the game, Mac realized he'd probably moved more slowly than he intended, and maybe he was slightly less situationally aware than he normally would have been. But as he moved the large projectile he'd made from the bed and other spare parts, he would have sworn that Vogt was out cold.

Until, that was, the large man was launching himself at the exhausted agent and slamming him up against the bars of the cell just behind him. Mac shouted involuntarily when his injured ribcage connected with the bars, but that just sent him into a coughing fit.

Mentally cursing himself again for not just calling in when Jack had made his most helicoptery face ever when Mac had downed Alka-Seltzer before going in to work at the beginning of this mission, he knew he didn't have any choice but to fight his way through right now. He dug in with his feet, sort of wishing that he still had laces keeping them on, or that Jack had been with him when he'd rigged things up and he could have just stolen Jack's, and he threw himself at his attacker.

The larger man didn't expect a man Mac's size to have his level of wiry, compact strength, so Mac gained a momentary advantage. Mac wasn't sure if it was that his head was fuzzy from the zombie virus that was currently winning his body's war on it, or if he'd hit his head, or if it was just that disorienting to be in this sort of rolling tussle with a guy that much bigger than you, mostly in the dark, in a shed full of guns, and drugs, and prisoners' quarters, but for a few minutes he didn't know which side was up.

Then they were wrestling for the gun.

Mac could see the glint off the dark metal in the growing light.

They both had their hands on it, Vogt trying to fire it, Mac trying to wrench it away.

BANG!

It went off and they both went tumbling back to the floor, Vogt falling on top of Mac so he was pinned by the big man sprawled on top of him. Mac heard swearing in German, the crash of boxes coming down with them, and then his head connected with the floor, just as he managed to yell, "Jack!" before everything went grey for a moment.

A moment or two later, Mac opened his eyes and Vogt was so heavy on his chest, he was having trouble pulling in breath. He could feel blood soaking his shirt. And he hurt all over. He honestly had no idea which of them had been hit when the gun went off. He tried shoving Vogt off him, but couldn't budge the large man.

"Jack!" he yelled again, taken aback at how absolutely lousy he sounded now, and more than a little annoyed that he sounded kind of freaked out. Not that he wasn't freaked out … He was just usually good at not sounding it.

He felt like he was swimming in a puddle of blood when Jack burst in, practically vaulted over everything that was in his way and heaved Vogt's heavy frame off Mac. Even in the dim light coming in the door, he could see that Mac was covered in blood. "Jesus, kid," he breathed. "Are you hit?"

Mac shook his head, but said honestly, in a voice that did manage to make it just past a whisper, "I have no idea. My chest hurts."

He started to push himself up to sitting but Jack forced him back down with a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, bud. Phoenix is here. They were moving the crew this way when I heard you yell. Stay put a second."

Mac nodded, though he wasn't sure if Jack could see his acquiescence in the dimness. He closed his eyes and felt Jack unzip his gore-bathed jacket, felt his partner's snow frozen hands slide over his torso. He gasped when Jack touched his ribs. Oh, hell, that really was a break for sure. He peeled his eyes open again.

He could hear other voices getting closer and see flashlight beams cutting through the diminishing snow. Jack could see his face a little better. "Good news is, I don't think you're hit, bud. The bad news is …"

"I felt like I got hit by a truck before that was even a possibility?" Mac said with a slight smirk. He reached up a hand. "Help me up, wouldja?"

"Maybe you should …"

"Jack, I can get up. We should see if Vogt's alive."

Back to the mission. _Well, of course he is_ , Jack grumbled to himself. If he hadn't been worried about completing the mission, they could have just let Vogt raid this shed while they hid in Sabine's back bedroom.

Mac maneuvered himself around Jack who, now that he didn't think his partner was gut-shot and bleeding out, was remembering that he had a broken ankle and he'd just sprinted across probably half an acre. He leaned against the crate right next to where he unceremoniously tossed Vogt a few moments before.

"Still breathing," Mac reported, his voice growing more hoarse by the minute. "Upper abdominal bullet wound … I think he got his own liver … Well, that's gonna suck."

"Good," Jack grumbled, his tone cantankerous. He hobbled toward the door and called, "Medic!"

Vogt, still more or less unconscious, moaned when Mac wadded up some of the sheets off one of the bunks in the cell and put pressure on the wound. "Oh, quit your whinin'," Jack said over his shoulder and Mac chuckled softly.

A few moments later, there were too many people in the shed. Jack and Mac moved outside, getting out of the way of the two-person medical team that Matty had sent to make sure the two of them got home in one piece, but that was currently occupied with dealing with an essentially self-inflicted gunshot wound.

When the cold outdoor air hit his face again, it temporarily cleared Mac's stuffy nose and he grimaced at the smell of blood clinging to his jacket. He shrugged out of the coat and just dropped it on the ground. Then he looked at his bloody hands and scooped up snow, trying to wash them.

He wiped his now-cold hands on his pants and looked up in time to see Jack starting to take off his own coat. "Jack, I'm fine," he said, sounding not exactly that.

"Mac, buddy, you're the one who's sick."

"And too warm. Keep your coat. But … Let's … um … let's move to …" Mac looked around, trying to decide where they could be both out of the way of rounding up the bad guys and transporting Vogt to the nearest hospital and sitting down. Sitting down was the really important part.

An older gentleman, in a worn barn coat was coming toward them from the direction of the house. He spoke softly, but could easily be heard over the noise of the medics, other agents, and criminals. "Angus, Jack?" he asked and when they nodded. "Sabine wanted me to invite you inside to wait for your people to be ready to move."

"Walter?" Mac asked with a smile. This man looked extremely kind. It made him happy to think that Sabine might have someone kind in her life. And he was probably fifteen years her junior, which explained him being more mobile than her other friends.

" _Ja_. I am Walter."

"Thanks for comin' to keep her safe and sound this morning, sir. I'm Jack," Jack said, offering a hand.

" _Ja_. I will always come when Sabine asks. But enough introductions. Let us go inside. She less invited and more said, 'Get those boys inside before they catch their death. One has already been trying.' That must be you, boy."

Mac gave a little shake of his head, but started coaxing his feet to move in the direction of the house. "I suppose it is," he said.

"Angus, is it?"

"Call me Mac, please. Name's MacGyver. I usually go by Mac, but Sabine seems to prefer my first name, Angus."

" _Ja_ ," the man chuckled, seeming to almost unconsciously offer Jack an arm for support, while also keeping his free arm near to Mac and almost extended behind him, in case he just dropped, which he looked and felt very much in danger of doing. "Well, I usually go by Doktor Müller. And she even worked for me for a time. But she doesn't that let it stop her in our case either. Walter I have been and Walter I will stay, I suppose."

"She doesn't seem like someone it pays to argue with, sir," Mac agreed.

"You are a smart young man, apparently. I might have been fooled by having to come retrieve you in the snow with no jacket."

The man smirked at the sheepish, defensive look that ghosted across Mac's face. Mac didn't have time to reply though, because when the approached the steps, Sabine was down them in a flash, making him think once again that she couldn't be as old as her face said she must be, or that if she was, perhaps she shouldn't have retired.

She took his arm and urged him inside, allowing Walter to help Jack up the steps. Sinking down onto the sofa was pure heaven and he was only vaguely aware of Jack and Walter talking. He knew Phoenix would probably be ready to transport them home soon.

But he was so relieved to be back inside, so pleased that Jack was alright, and so glad to have his aching body supported by the soft couch, he dozed off, not even stirring when Sabine covered him up with her soft knitted blanket this time.


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey," a voice said softly. "Mac, buddy, you with me?"

Mac cracked an eye open, but wrapped the soft blanket tighter around him. "Five more minutes?" he murmured in a perfect parody of a reluctant kid woken for school.

As he hoped, Jack chuckled. "Well, I'd come back, but Phoenix is on their way back from getting Vogt to the hospital, so we can go home pretty soon."

"S'good," he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

Jack shook his head and tried again. "Bud, you still kind of have blood all over your shirt. The crew brought us some bags of our own stuff, so if you want to …"

Sabine's voice entered the conversation, less cajoling and more authoritarian. "Angus, you go have a wash, change in to clean things, and get yourself ready to go home. If your medic sees so much blood all over you, he will think you are dying."

Her speaking to him in such a calm tone got him to rouse himself, where Jack's gentle concern had not. "Oh, Sabine, I'm so sorry," he rasped, now almost fully robbed of his normal voice.

"Whatever for?" she asked, giving him a small smile and earning herself a squeeze around the shoulders from Walter, who was standing next to her in the doorway of the living room, each of them carrying a black duffle bag from Phoenix for the men arranged on the most comfortable furniture she could offer them.

A bit at a loss, he just answered, looking down at his soiled shirt and the blanket he'd dirtied wrapping himself in it against the shivering chills he had. "The blood, I guess. And how it got there. And that I've just been sitting here covered in it … And I maybe ruined your blanket." He trailed off, unsure of how to really say how sorry he was for everything that had happened in the last several hours.

"You have ended years of crime in my own backyard that I never quite had to spine to put a stop to myself. Which will mean that my great-granddaughter can maybe come visit me again, now that it will be safe for my granddaughter-in-law to come back into the country."

She paused, swallowing hard. No matter what she said out loud, this was still very difficult for her.

Jack shook his head, moving to stand to retrieve their bags and being waved back into his seat by Walter who moved into the room, putting Jack's bag on the floor next to him. "Hey, now, Sabine," Jack said. "It's gonna be okay."

She nodded. "And it sounds as though Manfred will live to face the consequences of his crimes. And perhaps he will learn something."

Mac opened his mouth to say something, but found his voice just rasped and nothing came out. The retired nurse, the not quite retired doctor, and his helicopter partner all gave him the same look. He just smiled and shook his head, squinting when that made the room spin a little.

He stood and took his bag from Sabine and headed into the nearest bathroom to get cleaned up. When he unzipped the bag in the bathroom, he couldn't help grumbling under his breath. Most of his bag's usual contents was intact, except the clothes. Sweat pants, t-shirt, zippered hoodie.

No jeans, no flannel, no dry boots.

He just shook his head. That was not so subtle communication from the team that he might as well be comfortable and ready for bed, because he wasn't going home when he got off the plane in LA anyway. He vaguely wondered just how bad Jack made it sound when he'd called Matty.

Then another coughing fit, and his now severely sore ribs, had him putting down the lid of the toilet and sitting for a few minutes, resting his head on his hands. He wiped watery eyes afterward and had to try twice to get back to his feet. So, yeah, regardless of how Jack made it sound, realistically the team Matty currently had at Medical wasn't just going to turn him lose today anyway.

Fine.

Whatever.

He tried just washing the blood that was left off using the sink and found it was not going to be adequate to the task. So, he took another shower. He felt like he had used the existing supply of hot water for this small town, but he had a feeling if he came out of this room looking less that perfectly clean and comfortable someone, most namely Sabine Vogt, was going to be in fit of worry. And he felt he and Jack had caused quite enough of that today, albeit necessarily.

Everyone else was in the kitchen when he came back out. Instead of going and even attempting to join the conversation, Mac just settled into the corner of the sofa again. As if by magic, another soft, clean blanket appeared on the back of it. This one was a soft pale green instead of blue.

He smiled, picturing Sabine knitting by her woodstove on a cold night. He didn't remember his grandmother well at all and had never known any of his great grandparents. It was just such a homey, storybook sort of image that he'd missed out on growing up.

Still smiling, he pulled it around his shoulders.

It was a soft as it looked.

He closed his eyes and was just getting sort of warm and sleepy, the shivers from being out in the cold combined with a fever finally abated when a familiar, and not entirely welcome voice said, "Well, I thought he was probably exaggerating as usual, but you look awful, Mac."

He opened one eye. His voice was better after the steam, but still hoarse and raspy. "Yeah, well, not unlike my partner, you always say that, Ms. Sullivan."

"Because it's usually true when I see you. I keep hearing about this guy who flirts his way out of anything he doesn't feel like doing who's cute enough to maybe be a part time Brooks Brothers model, but all I ever see attached to the name that goes with the stories is some guy who looks half past done from three days ago. You look like a bowl of guacamole someone forgot to cover."

He just smirked. He knew she wasn't wrong. "Which one of your nurses says I'm cute?" He really kind of wanted to know. "Is it Angela? It is isn't it?"

"She's _one_ of them," the nurse replied, shaking her head. Mac laughed, and it set him coughing. Melody Sullivan gave him her patented don't you dare bullshit me eyebrow raise. "Your new friends are probably right, that's probably a lovely infection by now. And the way you're guarding your side, knowing you the way I do, I'm going to hazard a guess that even you might admit you have some ribs that could be broken?"

Mac caught his breath after a minute and shrugged. "Probably."

"So maybe you're too miserable to give me and Doc too hard a time on the flight home then," she said with a sympathetic look.

"Where is the doc. I figured Jack would have chased him in here first thing to bug me insisting that I was dying or something." She raised her eyebrows even further. "I know how bad I sound, what I look like. And we both know how Jack is."

She chuckled. "And it's a good thing, too. Doc's helping Jack get himself out to the car at the moment. Between him running around like a lunatic on that ankle and whatever the hell he got in that bullet graze, he's not a whole lot better off than you I don't think."

Mac nodded, frowning, but glad someone was taking care of Jack even though he suspected Jack would have done his usual, "I'm fine, but what about Mac?" helicopter partner thing he was so damned good at. Since he hadn't, Mac had to assume that things were catching up with Jack too. "I don't think so either," he finally agreed.

"You ready to go?" she asked. The rest of the tactical team was going to clean up here, process the evidence, and work with the local authorities. Mac and Jack could deal with the rest of their part of the mission wrap up when they didn't both look like extras in a zombie movie.

He just nodded, insisted on folding the blanket and putting it back where he found it, grabbing his duffle bag himself, and then preceded her into the kitchen where he paused to say goodbye and a thank you to Sabine. When he tried to get his hoarse sentiments out of his mouth, the tiny almost ancient looking woman said sharply, "You! Go home, do what they tell you to get well! Right this instant."

Mac's eyes widened just a little. "Yes, ma'am," he promised with a nod. Then he just headed outside where he could hear Jack arguing with someone about something.

Melody chuckled as she moved to follow him. "You're not looking for a job in the States are you? Because I could use a nurse, retired or otherwise, that can keep those two in line like you can."

"It's all experience, young lady," Sabine said with a fond smile. "They mustn't know how they worry us, or they'd be worse about being cared for than they already are."

Melody had to agree. "That's true. But I thought I had the giving orders thing down to a science."

Sabine smiled, and it was more sly this time. "Take up knitting and get a few grey hairs. For those two, I think not disappointing a grandmother is more effective than orders."


	15. Chapter 15

Jack kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way to the airport, filling in the medical team and their assigned security on what had happened over the last day or so. Mac, for his own part, put his overly warm head against the blessedly cool window, and went back to sleep.

When they got on the Phoenix jet to head home Mac fully expected to be able to rack out for a while, since he assumed Jack's extremely swollen ankle injury and poorly tended, probably infected bullet graze, would take up the whole medical team's attention for a little while. And he was half right.

Jack got the undivided attention of Sully, since both injuries needed either cleaning or icing to even be half evaluated. "Melody Brigid Sullivan," he said in his most irritated voice.

"Where the hell did you get my middle name?" she asked indignantly.

"I could tell ya, but I'd have ta kill ya. You know how it is with us spy types."

"Yeah, I do," she said with an eyeroll. "You get nearly killed and you want us around to put you back together, but then you have to make us earn our meager-compared-to-you-international-men-of-mystery paychecks by stalling and giving us a hard time with things like bringing up being named after our grandmothers!"

"I've spent the last two days getting shot out of the sky, stuck underground with potential Nazi zombies, chased, frozen, and beaten on, and I would like to just sit for ten minutes before you start bein' all nursey on me, thank you very much!" Jack harrumphed.

Sully took a deep breath, reminding herself that both of these guys required an above average amount of patience, and said, "How about five minutes, and some pain pills to start," she offered with her characteristic half-smile and squinty sort of nose wrinkle, the one expression she had that Jack didn't think looked vaguely threatening.

"Deal," he said, holding out his hand for the pills. Sabine's Advil hadn't been cutting it when he first got to her place and running all over her back yard sure as hell hadn't helped.

Mac was half listening. The doc Matty had sent made him the priority though. Fortunately, Mac was okay with this guy. He was always Steve rather than Dr. Rodgers. He took ribbing about being a wayward Avenger with shocking good humor. And he was a former SEAL, so he seemed to get that his patients weren't your average patients better than most of the other medical staff.

And he didn't hover, nor did he push or encroach in anyone's space without warning. True to form, he just sat down on the sofa where Mac had immediately wrapped himself in a blanket and wedged himself into a corner. Mac felt the sofa shift with company and peeled his dry, tired eyes open. He gave Steve a wan smile in response to the doctor's very concerned expression. "What can I say? This is not my best day ever."

Steve's dark, agreeable face split into a real smile. Mac was rarely so forthcoming. He figured the guy must really feel like deep fried dog shit. And these two agents had put in a hell of a couple of days. He went with his default for dealing with Mac or Jack, the light, almost but not quite sarcastic teasing tone that he preferred himself, back in the day, so to speak, when his job was more exciting, but perhaps less complicated. "Like I couldn't see that for myself."

Mac shrugged, already having a hard time keeping his eyes open. A small part of him, the part that was, in fact, still a piece of the little kid everyone keeps inside themselves their whole lives but almost never thinks about, just wanted to hear that he was definitely going to be fine and a bowl of soup and a long sleep would set everything right. A wet, painful cough told him that just wasn't going to be the case though.

It told the doc, too. "I'm hoping this isn't one of those times where you pretend this isn't as bad as it is. Because I'm actually a little worried about you at the moment, buddy."

Mac felt his lips move into a rueful half smile. "I don't have the energy for pretending, man."

"Good. More I know, the faster I can get you to feeling good enough to try and bullshit me."

Mac's smile became a little less rueful, a little more grateful that Phoenix had gotten to them and it was Steve and … he'd never say that he was glad of this out loud … Sully, there to look out for them.

Steve, he just plain liked, and Sully, well, she was a hardass and never bought a word that came out of his mouth, but she was really good at her job, and wasn't ever unnecessarily harsh with anyone. The times he'd felt the sharp side of her tongue or witnessed Jack be cut by it, he had to admit they'd both richly deserved it.

Steve took the smile as a cue to question his obviously spent patient. "Fever? Shortness of breath? Chills? Chest pain? Fatigue?"

He went on with his list of questions that were all answered with sort of resigned nods and short quiet explanations of the history of this short miserable illness as he personally collected the agent's vitals instead of relying on Melody to do it as he might have in a more typical intake back at the office. Mac had clearly already done his own differential and wasn't pleased with his conclusions, if his facial expression was any indication.

Of course, the elaborate frown could also have been a result of his exam. Mac was pretty uncomfortable, although he wasn't complaining. He'd need an x-ray to be sure, but Steve was fairly certain he was dealing with broken ribs and pneumonia wasn't even a question, even absent chest x-rays. Fortunately, he didn't seem to also be dealing with a concussion from their crash. And the woman they'd been staying with seemed to have done a good job of dealing with a probable case of hypothermia and dehydration.

In what Steve had come to think of as typical Mac fashion, the younger agent asked, "How's Jack?"

He didn't think it was an attempt to divert attention from himself, but Steve knew Mac well enough to know it could be, so he said, "Well enough to be driving Mel crazy." Then he patted Mac on the shoulder. "I've got an ortho consult called in for his ankle already, Mac. He definitely will need a course of antibiotics for that graze and the infection it let in and some more advanced imaging before I can know much more, but … But I'm not worried. About _him_."

"You're usually a lot more subtle about telling me you _are_ worried about _me_ ," Mac observed.

"And you're usually really busy being okay enough to try to snow me."

He thought Mac might have flushed beyond the way the fever had pinked his cheeks and that now he'd probably say something defensive.

Instead Mac just shrugged. "Probably fair." Mac closed his eyes for a second. All he wanted in the world was to go back to sleep. "So what do you think?"

Steve thought for a moment. "I think you've got pneumonia that probably is a complication of what would have been a mild case of the flu if you hadn't just tried to gut it out and go out on a mission that went sideways, like they all too often do. And it's bad enough that it's effecting your oxygen saturation, which is probably most of why you can hardly keep your eyes open and you're not up to your usual standard of thinking fast enough to give me an amusingly difficult time."

Mac's head found it's way onto his hand, and he was glad the arm of the sofa was there to prop him up. "And?" he asked with what would have been a resigned sigh, but just turned into him clearing his throat.

"And at least bruised, if not broken, ribs on your right side."

"No, I meant what do I need to do about it?"

None of the diagnosis was a surprise and he was getting irritated that he was still awake. He just wanted a treatment plan and to sleep this off. Then he shook his head a little at his own stream of consciousness. Steve was used to having to convince him to sit down long enough to deal with anything. Of course he was just laying this all out.

"Sorry, I don't mean to snap at you, Steve. I'm just about done in."

Steve squinted at him for a second. Done in summed up how he looked for sure. "I'm going to recommend at least initial IV antibiotics and fluids, something to bring down the fever and deal with the pain you're in …" He paused then expecting Mac to protest that he didn't need painkillers, but he didn't say anything, didn't even look totally focused. "And since I'm not worried about your immune system in general, corticosteroids to deal with the inflammation."

Mac nodded. "Okay."

One eyebrow went up. "I'd also like to suggest you stay at Medical so we can keep an eye on you when we get home. We can reevaluate the plan based on how you're doing after twenty-four hours."

Mac nodded again, leaning more heavily on his hand.

"You're really good with that? No arguments or other ideas, like going home and promising to come back in, for example?" Steve was smiling a little at this point.

"You still have beds at Medical?" Mac asked with a little of his usual wit. Steve chuckled then. "Whatever solution gets me a bed and a pillow and … oh, hey, some of those heated blankets maybe … I'm one hundred percent down with right now."

"That's good. I'm gonna go have a look at Jack and send Melody to get you started on some meds, okay?"

"Mmhmm," he replied.

When Steve walked away, Mac stretched out on the couch, without so much as a pillow. Getting one felt like it would take way more energy than he had at the moment. He draped one arm over his eyes to block out the light from the windows. He was almost asleep when he felt a lovely warmed blanket draped over him. He moved his arm and opened his eyes. Sully was standing next to him holding a pillow.

"How about something to make you more comfortable?" she asked.

He half smiled and took the pillow. Cold as he was otherwise, the pillow was blissfully cool against his neck, soft under his aching head. "Thanks."

She knelt down next to him. "Steve sent me over here to start and IV and get you some meds," her words went up at the end, like a question.

Mac nodded and awkwardly pulled the arm nearest to her out of the sleeve of his zippered hoodie, and offered it to her, draping his other arm back over his eyes, entirely ready to be left alone so he could sleep away even a tiny piece of his exhaustion.

"Jesus, you _must_ be sick," she mumbled, going about her work. He didn't disagree. It only took her a couple of minutes to finish the job. "Doing okay, Mac?" she asked softly, wondering if maybe he wasn't just asleep already.

"Mmm. Thanks," he said. That was a first; a thank you for stabbing a guy with sharp objects was not something she expected even from her more compliant patients. Then he sort of clarified. "For the pillow and stuff."

"You're welcome," she replied and started to move off to see what Steve needed from her for Jack.

She saw Mac shiver again and went and got another warmed blanket and spread it over him. He was obviously mostly asleep this time, but the tension in his face eased a little. Even one cooperative patient in this pair was something of a treat.

She'd appreciate it while it lasted, since the other member of this ops team was currently arguing with Steve by the sounds of it, the big baby. She went to join them, pulling out the big guns, and a little bit of payback, with, "Jack Wyatt Dalton, you button your lip before you wake up your partner!"

Jack immediately stopped whatever rant he was in the middle of with a glance over at Mac. "Yes, ma'am."

0-0-0

Mac woke up again several hours later with a slightly bumpy landing. He opened his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. Jack was now on the couch across from him, with his leg propped up on several pillows, currently watching him closely. He tipped a half smile and this one was more lucid and genuine than they'd felt in a while.

"Hey Jack. We home already?"

"Nah, man. We're refueling and waiting on some weather. Should be back up in the air in an hour or two."

Mac nodded and started to let his eyes close again, knowing the more he rested, the more quickly he was likely to recover.

"Guess where we are," Jack prompted.

Mac cracked on eye open. "Where?"

"Philadelphia," Jack said with a huge grin.

"Okay?" Mac said, obviously not getting the significance Jack was placing on their current location. All it meant to him was a delay of crawling into the promised bed.

"You know, man … 'All things being equal, I'd rather be in Philadelphia'. Dude, c'mon, we've been keeping going with _Die Hard_ quotes for days."

Mac did chuckle a little at that. "You know, that's actually a W.C. Fields quote, originally."

Jack shook his head. "Are you seriously gonna ruin _Die Hard_ for me with a bunch of your facts now, bud?"

Mac turned awkwardly onto his side, trying not to lie on or pull at the IV. He should have asked Sully to use the other side, but he'd only been about half awake and just wanted to be left alone at the time. He smirked at Jack, and then closed his eyes again. "Sorry, pal. I think maybe since we're going to possibly have a very John McLane Christmas, by which I mean spending it in the hospital, I'm less kindly disposed than usual. Too many shades of the first time I watched it with you, man."

"Maybe you're gonna spend Christmas in Medical, but all I got was a broken ankle. Mostly. I'll be back at my place making fists with my toes in my area rug by tonight. Unless, you know, you want me to stay with you," he said with a small smile. Not like he'd just ditch his partner, but damned if he wasn't ready for his own bed and a _Die Hard_ marathon.

Mac shook his head, but didn't open his eyes. "I've told you before, old man, I don't need a binky every damned time I get hurt. I've slept in a lot worse places than at Phoenix. So, if Doc says you can go home, just go. But …"

"But what?"

"Nothing, man. I'm sure you're fine. Unless Steve said otherwise."

The kid didn't open his eyes, but Jack knew he was fishing for information about Jack's condition. That was actually really encouraging. Mac felt enough like Mac to be a little grumpy about the prospect of staying at Medical and to be concerned about his partner's condition, too.

"I'm gonna be fine, kid," Jack assured him. "Steve did mention not putting the cart before the horse because I've got a lot of bruising and whatever, but he doesn't think it's anything too serious. He's got an orthopedic something or other waiting at Phoenix just to be sure."

"Good," Mac murmured, allowing himself to doze off again.

Jack mumbled to himself, "I wonder if that fists with your toes thing really works."


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N - Just gotta keep going a little; I may have a problem. ~ J_

By the time they got back to Phoenix, Mac actually felt quite a bit better. But not better enough that he cared to argue about where he spent the night, so long as it was in a bed. And warm. Those were his only two requirements.

So he got one. With extra blankets. And a mug of hot tea was put in his hands by his slightly-suspicious-of-his-agreeability nurse, within two minutes of him climbing into it. "Thanks, Mel," he said, pleased at how much less hoarse he already sounded.

She raised an eyebrow. "What happened to Sully? And what happened to my most stubborn and ridiculous patient of all time. Did we leave him in Germany by accident?"

He shook his head with a grin, taking a sip of his tea before answering. "Steve calls you Mel. I guess I just assumed you prefer it since you guys are friends. And …. I am not … repeat _not_ … ridiculous. Neither am I stubborn. You guys just overreact half the time."

She laughed. "I do prefer Mel, but you guys have called me worse than Sully before so …"

"I have never!" She almost laughed at how offended he looked at the implication.

"Sure you have, but you weren't really coherent at the time. Bullet wounds will do that to a guy," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Mac actually flushed at the idea that he'd name-called anyone like he was a grade schooler. He didn't care if he'd been shot, or on fire, or turning into a damned werewolf at the time. That was not how people behaved. "On behalf of my irrational wounded self, I'd like to apologize."

"Not necessary, but I appreciate it," she said, smiling at his chagrinned expression.

At that moment, Jack was pushed into the room in a wheelchair by Steve. Jack was already clearly in a mood, now that they were back at Phoenix and he hadn't been immediately sent home. "I don't see why I hafta wait around here just so some hotshot can stare at those pictures some more and have me at his beck and call to tell me things I already know about stayin' off an ankle injury. You could just give me some crutches and a boot, and I could be on my couch in less than ten minutes."

"Yeah, not gonna happen, Jack. I'll be back in a few. Melody, can I see you outside?"

She nodded, then looked at both of her patients, although she could see that Jack hadn't quite processed that he wasn't just hanging out in here like it was a waiting room yet. "Be right back, gentlemen."

Mac took another drink of tea, put the cup down on his tray table and sunk back into his pillow, drawing the blankets up almost to his chin. Jack was frowning at him with his typical concern and a little something else. "How ya doin', bud?" he asked almost casually, rolling his chair closer and wincing at the pull in his bandaged arm.

"Better ... Good," he answered, sounding drowsy.

"What are they givin' you? You seem more than a little medicated, man."

Mac shrugged. "Probably. I haven't even asked."

Jack smirked a little. "You, not playing twenty questions with the staff about anything more than a band aid? Who are you and what have you done with my partner?"

Mac snorted a laugh. "All I know is that I don't currently hurt all over, I'm not coughing up a lung, and they keep bringing me fresh blankets from the warmer. And it's almost late enough to justify going back to sleep."

Jack grinned at his partner. "Well, I'm glad to see you actually sitting still and letting someone take care of you for a change."

"Don't go all Porkchop on me now, Porkchop," Mac smirked. "If you're in helicopter mode I won't be able to tell you my diabolical plan."

"What diabolical ..?"

Steve and Melody came back then. "So, Jack," Steve began.

"I hate it when you use that tone, man. That's the bad news tone. It's the one you use when …"

"Jack … Stalling never gets you anywhere," Mac interrupted.

"Seriously, dude," Jack said giving him a long look, then glaring at their medical team. "Whatever you're giving him is not okay."

"Not two minutes ago you were all for it, Porkchop," Mac replied with a smirk.

"Oh, I forgot about that," Steve chuckled. "That's what you get for good helicopter parenting Jack. A kid who calls you out for not practicing what you preach."

Mac snickered. Jack had to laugh. But only a little. Then he just said, "Okay. Fine. How bad is it and do I even want to know?"

Steve shook his head. "You probably don't want to know, but it's not all that bad, we don't _think_. What you have is a probable bi-malleolar fracture that may require some … _very minor_ … surgery to repair. But we need a better look. Dr. Danielson, the ortho you met but barely looked at down in X-ray, has ordered a contrast MRI. If the fracture is destabilized, he'll repair it first thing tomorrow. If it isn't, we'll do the 'boot and send you home to watch _Die Hard_ ' thing."

"Seriously?" Jack asked in his most dejected voice.

Steve shook his head. And despite the fact that Jack had a number of years on him, he found himself reverting to his own dad tone. If it worked on his teenager, maybe it would work on Jack Dalton sinking into sullen adolescent mode.

"Very seriously. Unless want to just pretend it's fine, limp on out of here with no pain management, because fine doesn't qualify for meds, and tell your partner six months from now how you have to retire because you let a minor injury end your career after you didn't get it properly looked after."

"He doesn't," Mac supplied helpfully. "Because I'd kick his ass."

"You couldn't kick a kitten's ass right now, Mac," Jack grumped.

Mac nodded, agreeing almost against his own will.

"Probably couldn't … But in six months when Future Dumbass Jack has to retire, Future Totally Fine Because He's Not a Dumbass Mac totally could." He blinked a couple of times. Then he looked at Mel, followed by Steve. "Jack's'right. I feel kinda not … Sober."

"You don't remember the cough syrup you told me tasted like ass flavored ass with ass filling?" Mel asked, clearly trying not to laugh, but unable to be entirely successful. "I told you it was the no joke stuff."

"Oh … Oh." Mac frowned. "My usual brain wants to be mad you _didn't_ tell me it was like Mardi Gras in a bottle. But the rest of me really likes not coughing."

"It's also probably augmenting the effects of the NSAIDs we gave you," Steve said. "Marginally more effective pain relief when used together. It's why Tylenol with Codeine is such a popular scrip," he explained.

Mac liked explanations, even when he was not exactly himself. "In that case _laissez les bon tempt rouler_ , I guess," he said with a shrug.

Steve laughed, but then asked, "Are you more comfortable for now, Mac?"

He nodded. "More or less." He paused for a second. "Home tomorrow though?"

"Told you he was feeling better," Mel said with a snicker.

"We'll see," Steve answered. "Mel, would you take Jack for that MRI and then get me the results. If he's staying with us this evening, dinner as soon after as possible. Our guest surgeon wants to be back on the east coast as early as possible if he's patching up bones in the morning instead of flying out tonight."

"Don't you worry about needing to feed me. I'll be home having a slice by the time it's really dark out," Jack said with the sort of swaggering confidence that belied real nervousness on his part.

Mac's brow creased for a second, but Steve distracted him from whatever he was thinking about saying with an offer of dinner for him, too.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Tomorrow, huh?" Steve raised both eyebrows.

"Fine," Mac said with only slight irritation. "But like soup or … soup."

"We can do that," Steve agreed. "I'll be in the office with Dr. Danielson when you have the results," he said to Mel and nodded at both the guys. "See you in a bit."

After Steve left, Jack turned his head to look at Mel. "So, how long is all this gonna take?"

She shrugged. "Depends on how long you stall and argue with me about starting your IV mostly."

"I don't stall. You just like giving me a hard time and getting all pushy and …"

"So stalling," she observed with a smile, glancing at Mac. "Am I right or am I wrong?"

Jack glared at him, but Mac, warm, comfortable, liberally medicated, and currently on Sully's good side just grinned. "Sounds like stalling to me."

A fair amount of grumbling, glaring, and under the breath mumbling – but no more stalling – later, Melody was ready to take Jack for his MRI. Mac looked about ready to go to sleep. "We'll be back shortly, Mac," she said more to prod him to stay awake for a few minutes than because she thought it mattered. He'd said before he didn't like clocks in his room if he was here. It was just a reminder that hospital time dragged.

"Okay," he said, concealing a sigh, but looking a little pleased with himself that the sigh didn't set him coughing.

"I'll send someone along with some dinner for you on our way down the hall."

He nodded, making a little face she didn't think he was aware of. "Sure … But, like I said, just soup, okay?"

She nodded. "Tomato soup and grilled cheese this evening I believe."

His face actually split into a grin. "I love tomato soup and grilled cheese. That's about my favorite comfort food on the planet. All the way back to when I was a kid. And I don't think even the cafeteria here can screw that up."

"It's half-way decent here," she acknowledged. "And it's probably even your comfort food brands if you're thinking of the kind I'm betting you're thinking of."

She started pushing Jack's chair out the door. Jack was smiling a little now too, glancing somewhat fondly at Mac now that his partner wasn't accusing him of stalling or implying that he was a wuss. "He really does love the stuff," Jack said. "After he came to work with me and my team in Afghanistan … That was around Christmas, too actually … He got dinged up and he was miserable and …"

"Do not tell Sully that story, Jack," Mac called after them. "The poor woman doesn't need to know what atrocities you committed on those MREs!"

But he was still chuckling to himself a little at the memory when one of the other guys who worked on this floor brought him exactly the sort of smooth tomato soup, white bread, and orange cheese he'd been hoping for.

Full of real food for the first time in a long while, and still reasonably comfortable, it didn't take Mac long to fall asleep. He didn't even wake up when Melody brought a none to happy and not looking forward to tomorrow morning Jack Dalton back, or when Riley dropped off the _Die Hard_ boxed set, or even when Bozer came by with some Christmas cookies.

He slept straight through until morning and woke to the smell of coffee and Jack grousing because he wasn't allowed to have any until after his surgery. He was determined to sit up and eat breakfast and convince Steve to send him home. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and he still had a diabolical plot to discuss with his partner.


	17. Chapter 17

Mac was concealing a smile as he listened to Jack whine a little at Mel and Steve. While everyone else's attention was diverted, he quietly ate his lunch, texting in between bites of turkey sandwich (which he was extremely grateful to be able to both taste and keep down). A night and most of a day on fluids, antibiotics, and anti-inflammatories had him feeling damned close to normal considering how miserable he'd been.

His ribs were sore, and he knew it would be a week or two before he was really up to snuff physically, but he was back to feeling a hundred percent like himself, in his brain anyway. And he wanted out of here. He had things to do. Question was, could he make it happen?

He checked his phone for the most recent reply, then pushed his tray table back, picking up the device to send a final text. "Thanks, Ri. I appreciate the assist. I'll let you know."

He put the phone down on his nightstand and picked up the ginger ale he'd been sipping. He was doing his absolute best to look just as good-natured as he could manage. He pretended to be watching TV while Steve ran down Jack's discharge instructions with him. Lucky bastard knew for sure he was leaving.

Now, to arrange the same ride home, Mac thought to himself. Melody continued to go over some things with Jack, go set his clothes up for him in their bathroom, and help him get his crutches adjusted, while Steve made his way over to Mac and looked at him with a critical eye.

"Well, you've been up for a while, had a few decent meals. How're you feeling now?"

Mac shrugged and took another sip of ginger ale. "Decent?" he said, definitely letting it be a question. "I mean, like a million bucks compared to when you first saw me, but I still feel a little like a got put through the wringer. Glad you guys came for us when you did." Mac gave Steve a small smile and his eyes flicked over to Jack as Mel helped him get onto his feet. "For a number of reasons."

Steve made his face reassuring. Mac found it uncomfortably paternal. He didn't need two guys going full dad on him today. That was not what he was after at all. Mac swallowed and narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze move from Jack back to Steve slowly.

"How's he doing really? Other than trying to make your favorite nurse quite her job?"

"He'll be fine, Mac," Steve assured him, and he could read guilt Mac didn't realize he was broadcasting in the younger man's eyes. "All the running around wasn't great for it, but the boot you built him probably kept it from being worse than it was. The damage wasn't that bad."

Mac gave an involuntary little smile, glad he'd been able to help Jack even a little. He really did feel badly that Jack had to do so much as Mac had gotten sicker. "Nothing permanent?" he asked, telling himself that he really just wanted as much attention on Jack as he could muster.

"I doubt it. Like I told him last night, he can't go pretend it's fine and expect to be alright down the road. And he'll be wrong if that's how he plays. He needs to take care of it. Do what we say. Show up for his rehab. Then he ought to come out not much worse for wear. He's not exactly ready to be put out to pasture, but he's not a kid either."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Mac chuckled, mostly to prove he could laugh without coughing. "Or maybe do and then I can explain how if he wants to helicopter parent me, he has to admit to being kinda old."

"Speaking of worrying about his unofficial helicopter kid, last night you brought up going home a number of times. I assume that's still a goal."

Mac shrugged. "I mean, only if you think it's a good idea. I've been pretty damned sick. No sense pushing and making myself worse. I mean …" He paused for effect this time. "Don't get me wrong. I'd rather be home … But I know making a bad decision and going on the mission when I knew I was coming down with something is what screwed us over and landed me here."

Mac let his head tilt down a little, conveying embarrassment and regret.

Steve was sympathetic. Admit to being wrong, let the idea that it made you grow as a person out there, and he immediately wanted to make you feel better about it. It was like clockwork. "Are you telling me the truth about really feeling better?" he asked, letting Mac hear the almost warning in his words.

"I … yeah …" Mac said, after a moment's hesitation. "I really do feel better."

"You still look pretty rough, Mac," came out sounding more concerned than Steve meant to let it.

Mac shrugged. "I'm sure. I'm still just really tired. This is not the best environment for sleep," Mac hedged.

"So you're trying to tell me that for a change you're willing to be sensible, but that you'd rather be sensible in your own bed?"

Mac grinned. "Who wouldn't? Besides, even if you cut me loose, I'm going to be supervised. Jack almost gave himself a freaking stroke trying to hide how worried he was by the time you all got to Germany. It's not like he's going to stop until he knows I've shaken off this garbage."

"In that case … Are you up for letting me take a look at you so I know how much I should let ole Porkchop worry?"

"Only way I'm getting out of here, right? I got up just to use the bathroom this morning and I thought Sully was going to take me down with a flying tackle," he laughed.

"I was," Melody called over from the other side of the room. "You had that look, Mac."

"What look?" he asked with mock indignation.

"The nobody's looking so maybe I'll slip out the back look. I think it's a spy thing."

Knowing playing too cooperative was going to trip their radar as much as being as stubborn as he felt like, he laughed again. "It maybe crossed my mind."

She shook her head, stepping over to draw the curtain around his bed for Steve. "You're just bucking to get out of here so you can go home and throw one of those wild Christmas parties I've heard about."

Mac smiled. "If I was, you'd be invited this time. I appreciate you guys coming and taking care of us. But no wild parties, I promise. Just family time."

She and Steve both raised their eyebrows.

"Hey, you don't have to have a wild party to have a merry Christmas. Sometimes, just being with the right people is all you need."

0-0-0

Mac deliberately slowed his pace. Jack was managing alright with the crutches, but he was needing frequent breaks. His arm was still sore from the bullet graze. Mac glanced at his partner as they got on the elevator. "You sure you should be using the crutches, Jack? Mel offered you that scooter thing."

"Those things are ridiculous," Jack grumped, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his arm for a minute.

Mac grinned and shrugged, also leaning against the wall. His arm wasn't tired. His everything was. "I don't know, Big Guy. I think they look kind of fun."

Jack actually smiled at that, shaking his head. "Next time you break your ankle, I'll remember that … On second thought I'll tell Medical that they are under no circumstances allowed to give you any such thing. You'd probably motorize it or modify it to do something crazy and wind up breaking both our necks."

Mac laughed softly. "That's probably pretty close to the truth. I was already thinking that if you took that option, I could put multidirectional wheels on it so it would corner better and faster."

"Of course you were," Jack said with a fond smile.

The doors opened onto the parking structure and Mac headed out in front of Jack, making sure the floor was clear of any debris. Crutches sucked. Crutches with a bum arm were agony. And he wanted Jack to recharge this evening. Because he was going to reveal his diabolical plot early tomorrow morning. Well-rested comfortable Jack was more likely to get on board than sore from surgery, fresh off hospital total lack of sleep cranky Jack.

Jack was pretty focused on his own progress to Mac's Jeep, but he did take in the way his partner was moving; it was slow, measured, and the kid was still wrapping one arm around his side. Jack didn't think Mac even realized it.

When Mac opened his door for him and Jack maneuvered himself into the seat he reached out his hand and rested the backs of his knuckles on his partner's forehead. Mac ducked his head away with a laugh. "Alright, Porkchop, that's about enough of that. Personal space, man."

"You really good to head home today, bud?" Jack asked with real concern.

Mac rolled his eyes and closed Jack's door, wincing as the movement reminded him that he did in fact have injured ribs and had spent the last several days coughing them from discomfort into pain. He walked slowly around the front and climbed into the driver's seat.

"I mean it, Mac. For real now. You okay, like to drive … and be … not in bed?"

"I'm going back to bed as soon as we get to my place. We'll keep an eye on each other, okay?"

Jack frowned. "That's the idea, but …"

"Jack, I didn't just walk out of Medical, okay. Steve sent me home, right? I wasn't arguing for or against it. Even Melody said it was a good idea and I'd get more rest. You were there."

He keyed the engine to life and glanced at Jack, who was still frowning his concern. "Yeah, yeah I guess." He paused as they pulled out into traffic. "Maybe that's why I'm still worried aboutcha, kid. You're usually so hot to get out of there, your shoes melt on the way. I kinda got the impression you weren't even all that keen on goin' home, bud."

He just caught the little smirk that quirked up one side of Mac's lips. "I'm good, Jack."

"See, now I'm even more worried."

"I feel better, Jack, I swear."

"Yeah, I think maybe you do. And that maybe all that, 'Golly, Doc, whatever you think is best,' stuff was some kind of act … Because you're up to something."

Mac almost laughed as concern was replaced by suspicion. He sort of couldn't wait to spring it on him. He was pretty sure Jack was going to love it. But he didn't want to say anything until he was sure he could pull it off.

"I'm up to getting us back to my place, letting Bozer feed us some soup, and maybe, just maybe sneaking some of the whiskey he bought for the eggnog into some hot tea, and watching _Die Hard_ with my two best friends."

One of Jack's eyebrows climbed. "You do remember saying 'diabolical plot' before you racked out last night when you were all hopped up on cough medicine, right?"

Mac gave a dismissive wave. "Maybe I was delirious."

Jack snickered. "I'm starting to think _I'm_ delirious."

0-0-0

"Jack, hey Jack; wake up, pal," Mac said quietly, just above a whisper.

"Time's it?" Jack mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Early," Mac replied. "Still dark. But it's Christmas Eve Day, Jack, both an eve and a day. It's a Christmas miracle."

Jack cracked an eye open. "You take more of that cough syrup, kid?"

Mac laughed softly. "No. I just knew that would get you to open your eyes. You love miracles and any and all miracle related topics."

Jack pushed himself to sitting with his good arm, groaning as his foot slipped off the stack of pillows Mac had insisted on arranging for him last night. "What're you gettin' me up at the ass crack of dawn on Christmas Eve for?"

Mac grinned. "My diabolical plot."

Jack smiled in return, liking the mischievous twinkle in his partner's eye. First, because it meant something good, and probably fun, and definitely against the rules. Second, because he really looked well this morning, really looked like himself. "I knew you said that. Sneaky little shit."

Mac's grin got bigger as he handed Jack a cup of coffee and his tablet, where he had everything Jack needed to know queued up. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

0-0-0

The stood at the base of the stairs of the little porch, grinning like kids. Well, Mac stood. Jack leaned against his crutches. Just getting this far on the snowy driveway had taken the wind out of his sails pretty thoroughly.

The scene in front of them was as close to a Christmas miracle as either of them had probably ever gotten, even considering the skin of their teeth saves they'd pulled off in the past, and probably would again on some Christmas yet to come.

Sabine had heard the noise when their party got out of the car and had come out onto her little porch to see what all the commotion was. Her cry of surprise and delight had nearly set Jack to crying like a little kid then.

The dark haired young woman, not much older than Mac, who they'd picked up in New York, along with her little blonde daughter had gasped at seeing her ex-husband's grandmother. It was clear, if their conversation on the flight and the ride here hadn't already made it so, that they had been close.

"Oma!" she had called out, just like she was greeting her own grandmother and she'd run up the steps and wrapped the small frail-looking (only frail-looking, both men reminded themselves – Sabine was anything but delicate or fragile in any way) into a tight hug, burying her tears in the old woman's sweater. "Mara!" had been Sabine's tearful shout of joy in response.

Mac had looked away, the reunion obviously cutting him a little, Jack thought. Mac liked nothing better than to see families get back together, orchestrated it whenever he could, but it hurt that he didn't get one of his own. No matter what the kid said.

Mac, instead of dwelling on either feeling good for the Vogts or bad about his own lack of family, just bent down to help the squirming little girl in the back seat get out of her booster seat. "Thanks, Mac!" she said brightly in a completely American accent before taking off up the steps. Jack glanced at Mac who laughed softly when the little girl looked up at Sabine and said, "Oma, I remember you! You have more wrinkles now!"

"That I do, little Gaelle, that I do," Sabine replied in her pleasantly accented English.

Sabine certainly did have more wrinkles at the moment, he was sure. Not just since the little girl last saw her, but since Mac and Jack had seen her only a few days ago. Through her happy tears, she was smiling fit to split her face in half. Jack reached out and patted Mac on the shoulder, almost losing his balance as his crutch almost went out from under him.

"Fifty points to Gryffindor, kid."

Mac glanced at him, all trace of the momentary sadness for his own lacking reunion gone. "Thanks for coming with me, Jack. I thought you'd like to see what we did, too. This one cost us a little, but man did we get paid back quick."

Jack grinned and got his crutches back under himself firmly. "We got off cheap if this is really what we bought, bud."

Mac nodded, listening intently to the rapid-fire German being exchanged by Mara and Sabine and almost laughing at how Jack's lost expression mirrored little Gaelle's perfectly. "Sabine is just telling Mara about Manfred. She's speaking in German because Gaelle doesn't speak anything but English and she doesn't want her father's deeds to damage her Christmas," he explained, his affection for the woman and her thoughtfulness evident in his voice.

"Your grandad do that sort of thing for you?" Jack asked, just wanting Mac to get it off his chest of thinking about his dad was bothering him.

Mac nodded, glancing at Jack, but mostly watching Sabine's expression brighten as her tears dried up and she realized she really had her family back, absent her abusive, criminal son. "He never said anything bad about my dad. Even when I did." Mac paused. "But he never made me feel bad about being angry either. I'd never want anything to ruin this moment for any of them, but I hope they'll tell Gaelle the truth someday. A kid deserves to know why their parent isn't in their life. They deserve to know that the choice wasn't theirs and that it isn't about them."

Jack shifted the crutch on that side to under his other arm and pulled Mac into a one-armed hug. "You finally figured out that it wasn't about you, or do I maybe need to beat some sense into ya today?" he teased.

"I actually figured it out a long time ago, Jack. Thanks mostly to you. So, no beatings necessary. And if you could hug a little less hard that might be good too." He winced dramatically, reminding Jack that his torso had a southwestern sunset of bruises marking it.

"Sorry, kid. Didn't mean to …"

"You didn't, but I know how you get when you're all hug-y and Christmas-y. Cracked isn't far enough from broken that I want a full-on Delta Dalton bear hug, man."

Jack chuckled, easing up, but still keeping his arm wrapped around his partner. "Wanna go in and say a quick merry merry and maybe head to Berlin for a little Christmas cheer in that bar we hit up last time. Then we could get a room, watch some tv, eat too much room service …"

"Other than the bar, that sounds perfect. Last night taught me I definitely have to follow the label instructions on my meds and not mix alcohol with that cough syrup. I was practically in a coma for the first five hours I went to sleep," he chuckled.

"Alright, fair enough. No alcohol … Wait … You're actually taking all your meds? Like as prescribed?"

Mac rolled his eyes at Jack's incredulous tone. "I mean, yeah, duh."

"Which is an excellent answer, young man," said a heavily accented deep voice from behind them.

Mac turned. "Walter! Merry Christmas!" He held out his hand and the older man took it, shaking it with an enthusiastic smile.

"Merry Christmas it will be thanks to you boys. So I thank you again. It is all my Sabine has wanted for years."

"Your Sabine, huh Doc?" Jack asked with a grin, holding out his hand as well.

" _Ja_ ," he replied with a smile. "She is finally ready for people to know she has taken up with the local doctor, I suppose. I am hoping to make that official before the new year now that her life will be her own and not Manfred's. I bought the ring some time ago, but have lacked the courage to do anything with it."

"And now?" Jack asked.

"Now … You boys have reminded me that courage still has a place in this world When I ask, I do believe she will agree." Dr. Mueller's smile was very broad.

"That's wonderful, sir," Mac said with a smile.

The look the older man gave Mac transformed from being plainly pleased to being more concerned. "It is cold out here, young man. Not ideal for someone recovering from pneumonia. You agree, _ja_?"

Mac looked appropriately sheepish. "I suppose not, sir. But how do you know I'm recovering from pneumonia?"

The older man shook his head with a lopsided grin and started encouraging the agents toward the house. "First of all, my boy, I was an experienced physician well before even your partner was born."

"Hey!" Jack said indignantly at the idea that his birth was so very long ago.

Walter chuckled, but didn't respond. "And secondly you Director Webber called and told me what you were up to and asked me to look after you for a few days while you stay here and rest until after the holiday."

Jack half glared at Mac. "Matty knows? Now we're gonna get chewed out by Medical We were supposed to be chillin' at your house, man."

"I didn't tell her!" Mac defended. "Ah, damn it. Riley. That traitor."

Walter laughed again. "Whoever told her, your boss is lovely woman. She just wanted you to take care of yourselves and have a nice holiday, _ja_? I told her I would see to it. And I have. She did not know the reason for your return, but Sabine has already made up her guestroom. After Christmas I will drive you to the airport and send you home myself."

"Thanks, Doc," Jack said, with a significant sideways glance at his partner. Mac looked better today, but damned if the kid hadn't about scared the life out of him this last week. "I promise I'll get him to behave himself." Mac through him a glare and looked significantly down at the way Jack kept letting his boot touch the ground to take pressure off his sore arm. "And I'll try'n behave too."

" _Ja. Das ist gut_. Otherwise I will have to get Sabine out of retirement. I am not so good at being stern with patients. My Sabine, however …" he trailed off, and all three of them laughed affectionately.

Mac and Walter helped Jack up the steps and Sabine met them at the top, having ushered Gaelle and Mara inside already. She almost knocked the boys over with a fierce hug that reminded them that though she might look a hundred years old and like a stiff breeze could blow her away, there was still steel in her spine.

" _Danke. Danke_. Thank you both so much."

"We're sorry we couldn't just fix all of it, Sabine," Mac said, voice sounding tight for a moment.

"But you have, Angus," she said softly. "Manfred used his access to a phone not to call a lawyer, but to say his is sorry. That's not much … But it is a start."

"I'm glad he did something right by you, Sabine," Mac said, his soft smile firmly back in place.

"And, my little Stranger, my Gaelle," she beamed. Mac realized he would have to explain to Jack later that the little girl's name meant stranger because Jack looked confused. "She told me that because of me, she wants to be a doctor. What could make a great-grandmother happier than to know her life made someone else want to help people in the same way?"

"That's wonderful, Sabine," Mac and Jack agreed together.

Mac wasn't about to point out to the woman that Ellie, as her mother called her, was only six and would probably change ideas about what she wanted to be a hundred times. Mac had wanted to be an astronaut when he was six. He wanted to 'Boldly go' like his heroes on reruns of Star Trek the Next Generation.

He was a long way from that now.

Then again, maybe he wasn't. He adventured. He explored. He tried not to judge people and cultures he didn't know or understand. He just tried to help. He grinned a little when he had the warm thought that maybe Captain Picard would be as proud of him as Jack looked right now.

He caught that look from his partner several times over the course of their Christmas Eve celebration. It warmed him all over. Even as the busyness of the day taxed his still recovering body.

When the Voghts and the Muellers (Mac had already married off Sabine and Walter in his head) headed for church that evening, neither he nor Jack protested much when Sabine said they should head to bed and get some rest so they could enjoy the Christmas feast she had planned.

Lying there in the dark, thinking of the week behind them, thinking even of the years he and Jack had known each other, of all those Christmases, Mac felt truly happy in a way he never expected to when he spent his first Christmas without his mother, and then not too long after, without his dad.

The good memories were the ones that dominated.

The ones with Harry. The ones with Boze and his family. That first Christmas he'd known Jack and the man had committed crimes against nature with MREs to give him tomato soup and grilled cheese. All the holidays since.

Mac didn't believe in miracles.

He really didn't.

Mostly.

But he did believe in love, in friendship.

Not knowing if his partner was still even awake, and feeling the effects of the medicine he'd promised and determined to take even though he didn't like it, he spoke softly.

"Merry Christmas, Jack."

There was a beat of silence and Mac was pretty sure he was the only one awake.

Then the warm reply made the sentiment true.

"Merry Christmas, bud."

Mac smiled sleepily and was almost drifting off when Jack spoke again.

"You finally believe in Christmas miracles, you know, since you made one."

"I think I do, Big Guy. I think I really finally do."

A beat of silence.

"Thanks, Jack."

Another beat.

"No, Mac. Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making me want them to be real again, kid."

"Oh … Merry Christmas."

The End


End file.
